∴Every Life You Could Ever Dream Of∴

and every one you'll never live

My wife and I were married in South Africa this year. One of my oldest friends was at the wedding. We haven’t spoken very much over the last few years, but when we see each other it feels like it always did, good, in a simple way. At the wedding I noticed him snapping a few pictures on a little digital point and shoot. He didn’t shoot much, but he got a few lovely moments that felt all the more special coming from him. A few days later we were hanging out, and I asked him one question after another about it. He’s a quiet guy, and the little that he did have to say was positive. That was enough for me to pick one up when I got back to Seoul.

<3

I wanted the camera for two reasons. One, I felt like I’d been missing out on certain photos since I’d been mainly shooting film. Uncertain scenes, subjects and compositions tended to go unphotographed because I couldn’t afford to burn rolls thoughtlessly. Two, I felt like I’d been missing out on photographing my friends and family. My photography has rarely focused on the people in my circle. I thought maybe having a small camera I could carry everywhere would change that.

And, I suppose it did. I picked up a few images on the go that I wouldn’t have otherwise. My film camera is bulky and I don’t take it everywhere. My point and shoot has been slung over my shoulder pretty much every day for the last 6 months. I began to take more photos of my wife, my friends and my colleagues. I found out it’s a treat to send them a photo, sometimes months after I took it, as a little surprise. The camera’s been working just as it’s supposed to. My taciturn friend would be proud.

And yet, I feel like I’m missing out.

I have to admit, this sense of missing out is not easy to shake. It doesn’t seem to comply with my attempts to satiate it. It squirms into some new form of thing I’m not quite doing enough of. The cartwheels my brain can do from one insecurity to the next can really only be laughed at sometimes. They’re deft and silly, the practical jokes of a clown whose grist is my distress. Ha ha.

So this year I want to learn to live with the feeling. I’m new to Substack, but I’ve been here long enough to start picking up on some of the trends. Rounding out the year with a final post looking back on your successes seems to be pretty popular. I did something similar just for myself a few weeks ago, and it was good for me to remember some of the things that went well. But noticing that this feeling’s endured regardless has motivated me to approach this new year differently, by learning to accept it.

This response is a part of an effort I’ve been making toward some kind of mindfulness practice over the last few years, which encourages noticing your thoughts and not identifying with them. You’re missing out, you’re spending your time all wrong has been one of the toughest for me. That’s why I’m paying it some attention now, as we close out the year.

I haven’t got any major advice, for you or for me, on how to live with this feeling of missing out. But there are a few little things I think will do some good.

• Consume a little less.

• Produce a little more, knowing it might not be convenient.

• Think about why you’re about to use your phone before you use it.

For me, the third point is the fine line between points one and two. I haven’t plumbed the depths for these well-worn pearls, but I’m not so sure there’s such a thing as new wisdom. Just a recognition of what’s already there.

Cheers,

Chris.