Not too much to report. No epiphanies, no increases in clarity. I did hike about six miles, late in the afternoon. There were few enough other people that I wasn’t bothered, but there were still enough folks that I wasn’t able to hash out things aloud, which works best for me. Still, getting out and about is nearly never a bad thing.
The evening before, at one of the Art Walk venues, the main gallery was hanging photos from Telluride Portraits. During a good chunk of yesterday’s walk, I was thinking about those portraits, and why I was so enamored with them, both individually and with the show as a whole. (I had a chance to talk about this, today, with Amy Levek, who’s lived here 27 years. If I remember, I’ll go over what came out of today’s time with Amy, in tomorrow’s blogpost.) The reason I was so drawn to and effected by them has to do with stories. With these being local folks being photographed, and in environs far outside any studio setting, the mind was drawn in, filling in the blanks, crafting stories.
Up until this past April, I would have pooh-poohed any notion that my having seen stories waiting to be heard was anything noteworthy. It seemed a natural, normal, expected thing to have happen. Well, it’s because I’m a writer that such a reaction comes so naturally and unbidden to me. It isn’t any sort of a universal response. Rather, it’s a distinguishing one. One that does set me apart.
And because I can be incredibly hard-headed, even about the obvious, I took a FB post quiz to find what career I should have, and (big surprise…wait for it…) the result was, Writer.
Huh. Maybe there actually was some clarity, after all.