Time keeps on slipping...

...into the future, as Steve Miller once sang, and as I have experienced recently. Despite vowing to be more disciplined in regards to my photography, and maintaining its associated website, I have simply not be able to find the time to do so. Ironically, because I have been so buried in winding up 20 years of working in my previous job in order to make more time for my photography (and life generally).

Falling behind brings with it a certain amount of self-inflicted guilt. Self-inflicted because I'm pretty certain I'm the only who is actually tracking my pace and output. But feeling guilty nevertheless. And the guilt of not keeping up with my goals, in some way makes trying to do so seem more of a task. They say that sometimes when you turn a hobby into a job, it becomes work. I'm trying to be careful with that. I don't mind work so much. What I do mind is the tedium that can creep into work.

I tell myself that I am simply experiencing burnout from the last few years at work, and with new freedoms my energy and enthusiasm to get out more regularly, Canon in hand, will return. So far this year, I have only managed to venture out for dedicated shoots on a few occasions; a couple of car meets, and a couple of Instameets. Even driving across Australia to Perth and back for Christmas seemed rushed, affording little time to just stop, stand still, watch the world, and capture its magic.

But now that my old job is finally packed down and behind me, and our new venture is nearing completion, I really have no excuses. So, looking out of the window yesterday evening, I grabbed my pack and raced out for what was shaping up to be a promising sunset.

It's amazing how quickly one can lose one's edge. There was lots of high cloud about, in all directions, and I wasn't sure which direction would deliver - the stratocumulus in the west, or the cumulus in the east (as a reverse sunset). I had left it rather late, so there wasn't a lot of time to drive about deliberating, so I went for the reverse sunset. Wrongly, it seemed. So I quickly drove around looking for a vantage point facing west. I managed only a couple of shots before the colour quickly drained away. Turning to return to the car, I was surprised to see the reverse sunset start to pick up above the houses behind me. That sent me running back to the car for a mad dash to our lagoon. By the time I had parked and run out onto the sand, the colour had now paled to the east. Seems I had misjudged everything.

Any other photographers that may have been there had already left, and the few surfers around were following suit. Feeling dejected and a little dumb, I took a few minutes to just stand and watch the ocean. A much-needed reconnection with the natural world for just a moment.

When I turned, I was surprised by a sky to the west that had become swollen, bruised, and was now aflame. A slump-shouldered angler walked across the frame, empty-handed other than for his runners and rod. Seemingly caught up in his own disappointment, I'm not sure he even noticed the spectacle going on above and around him. Nor did he notice me, running around trying to harness the magic with a single camera and lens, everything else left back in the car in my earlier haste.

It helped me realise that with landscape and nature photography, no matter the outcome, you never really come home empty-handed. You may not capture "that" shot, but spending that time out there in the real world will capture your heart and your imagination. You just need to be open to it, and be patient.

I fortunately did manage to catch at least one good shot, but much more importantly, I came home with a reinvigorated appetite to get out there more often, to soak up the world, and to share what I see more regularly. That's once again my commitment. But don't hold me to it, just in case Steve was right...