Life. Or Something Like It.

So I’m trying to figure out two things:

Why I have this impending sense of doom. Why I have a morbid and depressing, yet intriguing, obsession with death and what comes after (and it’s not just because of my current involvement in a project by almost the same name). And why I kept hyperventilating in the art museum yesterday.

O, wait, that’s three things.

The hyperventilating bordered on an anxiety attack a couple of times. Go figure. It could have been because I was annoyed with the mister who was supposed to be spending quality time with me, but instead was spending a significant amount of time on his blackberry. So while he was doing that I spent some time studying the paintings and images in the Contemporary Gallery (my favorite of all the galleries, I think). I read about the artists ~ if they were still alive or when they died. And I stared at their signatures on their art. Some of these artists had been gone for many, many years. And yet their work and their name and their signatures live on.

I found myself wondering if my work would live on. If my name would live on.

And then I wondered why I cared. And what is it exactly I want to be remembered for? What am I hoping to contribute to society? What will be my legacy? And, why do I care? I'll be gone!

And why do I spend an inordinate amount of time feeling bad about myself? And then feeling bad that I spend so much time doing that because life is too fricking short to be doing that. It is one frustrating and draining endless circle.

Sheesh. No wonder I hyperventilate.

The Kindness of Strangers

You just never know when a stranger will make your day.

I spent my 53rd birthday in Las Vegas a couple of weeks ago. The day before my birthday I was wandering around shooting; Vegas is one big photo op. It was a day when I was happy to have some alone time. Just me and my camera. I wasn’t in a particularly good mood and I was enjoying the absence of human interaction. When I’m on a shoot like that I can go all day without speaking to anyone. To do so distracts my attention and I lose my momentum.

So I tried not to show my annoyance when a man struck up a conversation w/me as I was shooting the fountains at the Bellagio. Couldn’t he see I was working? He was making idle chit chat and I just wanted to get back to my fountains before they stopped showing off. Even though I was pleasant, I must have sent off the vibe that I was busy because the conversation was brief. Thank God. But as he was leaving he turned, pointed in my direction and said~

“You have a nice smile. Don’t lose that smile!”

I smiled bigger. And I smiled thru that day and the next. I’m smiling again as I write. All because a stranger was thoughtful enough to take the time and say a few kind words. It made me want to go out and do the same.

You just never know when a stranger will make your day.

“We should not forget to entertain strangers, lest we entertain angels unaware.” The Bible

What Do You Want To Be When You Grow Up?

A broadcaster, a florist and a psychologist. No, they didn’t go into a bar.

It’s what I was supposed to be when I grew up – in that order. At least that’s what my Myers Briggs Personality Test said at age 30. And why that occurred to me at 4:00 am is beyond me. My mind works in mysterious ways.

I can’t really see myself as a broadcaster, although at my 20th high school reunion one of my former cheerleading buddies who worked for a radio station in Florida told me I should do voiceovers. Maybe the whole broadcasting thing was tied into my teenage aspirations to be an actress.

I’ve known a few therapists in my time (don’t ask) so I could see me doing a psychology thing. I know a lot of the lingo…

But a florist… now I could see myself being a florist. That’s artistic. That’s creative. I am a florist in my own home, when I arrange my grocery store bought flowers each week.

So maybe it wasn’t such a stretch that my first foray into photography revolved around flowers…