Sometimes I wish I didn’t have a day job. That instead of going to work in a library most days, I could devote all my time to writing and taking pictures.
Then I remember all of the odd, inspiring events that happen while I’m at work, like the kids who think our automatic doors are magic because they open by themselves, the photographs I find slipped between the pages of returned books and the interesting conversations.
My job connects me to life and feeds into my art in unexpected ways. I mine these events, storing them for later. Thinking like this keeps me sane on the trying days, days when I have to deal with difficult customers or under-staffing.
So really, it’s not so bad, I’d miss, all this, if it wasn’t for the day job.
There’s a particular spot my boyfriend and I like to walk. We tend to follow the same path, going the same direction. We must’ve walked here a hundred times but this week, for whatever reason, we turned left inside of right and kept going until we reached a dead end. Here, the ground is seldom walked because it gets cut off at high tide. The beach becomes a blanket of tiny shells mixed with the odd bits of rubbish and sea glass.
During the walk, we found a ruined barn complete with disintegrating farm equipment and rusting BBQs. Someone had written the words “memento mori” inside using white paint. Large cracks ran down the walls and the bricks on top were loose.
Closer to the beach, a lone chair stood next to the remains of a camp fire. Old boats waited on the pebbles, propped up with wooden poles and bundled twigs. The place was completely deserted, quiet and calm.
Later, scrolling Twitter, I saw Sean Lotman’s words and thought about this place. It reminds me to keep on keeping on because there are always new opportunities waiting to be found, even in familiar places.