I considered writing about the Pandemic, about the losses of time and friends. About nights in and Netflix on the couch and the gaping absence of joy. About hanging on to mental health with both hands and only being marginally successful. About not knowing if getting out of limbo was an option.
But then, I didn’t want to do that at all.
Everyone’s photography was impacted. Everyone was slowed down and changed. I think I’m a bit tired of hearing about it.
I’ll confess I’m impatient. I am past ready to go and put some miles under wheels and see something new. I’m probably not confident enough to fly long distances yet, and the places I want to go aren’t fully open again. Plus I am horribly, terribly, totally and completely out of shape. Trying to hike in the Alps or do a bike tour would be a disaster.
But disaster or no, I am looking forward. I’m looking forward to the drudgery of losing weight. I’m looking forward to huffing and puffing my fat ass up and down mountains. Even if it’s a disaster, at least it will be something new.
I miss the beauty of the sky out on the road. I miss being somewhere new and looking at things in a different way. I miss listening to the roar of the runoff that’s soon to come while poking in old mine buildings. I miss the smell of dust when I swing down from the 4Runner in some small town I haven’t seen before. Plus I have a new camera to take on my walks in the woods. Something new to introduce to the wide world out there.
I’ve got some new things on the horizon. Watch this space, and a few others.
In a very odd way, I’m looking forward to having a disaster while out looking for beauty.