I’ve never tolerated endings well.
I have always been the type to put off finishing a book or a movie. I can’t stand goodbyes of any kind – parting with someone I love causes a part of my chest to flutter and constrict and ache in a way that nothing else does. And leaving places – leaving places has always been especially difficult. Even when I was little, I struggled with leaving a place behind. Everyone around me would be ready to return home, while no amount of time was ever enough for me. I’d try hard to fight back tears, which would well up fiercely at the thought of me having to walk away. I learned that what helped feel better was to convince myself that I could return as soon and as spontaneously as I wanted. I thought that it would get easier with age and maturity. But of course, the older I got, the more my love for places became interwoven with my love for certain people or certain pivotal moments, and leaving became even more difficult in a uniquely complex and raw way.
When I was about eight or nine years old, I remember staring out at the sea with my Mom during one of our family travels. We stood quietly, side by side, watching the trees sway in the wind, and she forced me to “make a memory”. I can still hear her voice asking me to focus, to record the scene in my mind, and to remember. Then I would have the power to return there whenever I wanted, just by calling up that memory.
I have always been the type to put off finishing a book or a movie. I can’t stand goodbyes of any kind – parting with someone I love causes a part of my chest to flutter and constrict and ache in a way that nothing else does. And leaving places – leaving places has always been especially difficult. Even when I was little, I struggled with leaving a place behind. Everyone around me would be ready to return home, while no amount of time was ever enough for me. I’d try hard to fight back tears, which would well up fiercely at the thought of me having to walk away. I learned that what helped feel better was to convince myself that I could return as soon and as spontaneously as I wanted. I thought that it would get easier with age and maturity. But of course, the older I got, the more my love for places became interwoven with my love for certain people or certain pivotal moments, and leaving became even more difficult in a uniquely complex and raw way.
When I was about eight or nine years old, I remember staring out at the sea with my Mom during one of our family travels. We stood quietly, side by side, watching the trees sway in the wind, and she forced me to “make a memory”. I can still hear her voice asking me to focus, to record the scene in my mind, and to remember. Then I would have the power to return there whenever I wanted, just by calling up that memory.
Before I ever had a camera – before I ever thought about thinking about wanting a camera – I got into this natural habit of “making a memory”, etching a landscape, a light, a feeling of a place into my brain.
That way, even if I leave a place, it never leaves me.
That way, even if I leave a place, it never leaves me.
This week, I thought I would share five photos that I have taken in moments where I paused for a moment to truly feel and truly remember.
So Much Life
That day I spent hours staring out at the horizon and at the surf in Corfu, listening to my iPod play some of my favorite music until the tide ate up the beach and evening fell.
Borgo Sacco
That light I fell in love with – the way it used to hit the mountains and my face, the way it would make the church, the vineyard and my street glow, and how it would make me breathe deeply and freely. Every day, I felt grateful for my life in Italy.
Cupole
I could have stayed up there for hours looking over Her, training myself to identify the hundreds of churches by their steeples, and imagining the past and the future of my lagoon city.
Plentzia
Those afternoon hours I spent staring out into the painting-like waves in the changing light, letting the sounds of Basque and seagulls fill my ears.
Tra gli ulivi di Ostuni
Quite possibly one of the most magical of places and the most magical of days, where ancient olive trees, precious land and inspiring locals taught me about life and passion.
These are moments and places I can feel at my fingertips. Thank you, Mom, for teaching me to record a moment – with or without a camera.
From my heart to yours.
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