It was mid-July, 2020. We took a very short trip for a photo of a comet we could not spy with the naked eye. For me, this was a moment for the child inside. I was once again a 4th-grader with a telescope in a suburban driveway. I am not, by any measure, an astrophotographer. Like my younger self, I can’t find the patience for the care and attention it takes to be really good.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
In moments like this, when I am capturing the wonders of the natural world, I do something a bit odd. After taking the photograph, I feel compelled to thank things, like this comet millions of miles away, for allowing me that moment.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Comet Neowise took no interest in me. It took note of this fleshy speck on the watery rock it was flying by. Nor would I expect it to. This celestial object has not a care in the world. It just is. And we repay it’s blissful state by only showing interest when it is near enough to witness. There are a rare few who have the knowledge and equipment to observe it outside of these relatively brief moments of spectacle.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
For me, verbal acknowledgment that it was a rare event and that I was fully in that moment was necessary. I do the same with the random fawn spotted on a walk in a local park. After I click the shutter to photograph a brilliant formation in a cavern, you might hear me mutter a quick thanks, too. Maybe this is my way of noting those brief moments of true connection with the world around me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I tend to be like this with people, too. I say thank you from a distance when they have no way to hear. Maintaining connections to those who aren’t near and present is definitely not a strong point. I think about a lot of people all of the time. I remember times, both good and bad, which continue to influence me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Recently, my mind has wondered back to very specific groups of people I used to work with while in college. The group of guys who met once a week after work to play Dungeons and Dragons. That beautiful girl I had a crush on who asked me out one night during our shift. I haven’t seen them in twenty years, but their influence is part of my living, breathing world. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
I sometimes think about reaching out to those people, but I always feel like I would be encroaching. That’s the side of my brain that also tells me I’m no good at photography talking. It won’t shut up. It routinely reminds me what a failure I am. I am harangued for not keeping in touch with “the guys” better. It laughs at me for not saying something different to that girl. It haunts me with every decision I make each and every day.<\/p>\n\n\n\n