A Daily Discipline: A Personal Passion

It gets monotonous at times, yes. The daily picture. The discipline. The daily looking, finding, seeing, creating. On day #1 I record on Flickr, 1/365. On day number one it feels like a fresh sheet of paper, a new journal, a book just opened.

On day number one it’s fresh.

It’s new.

It’s exciting.

On day number 298, when we get home late from a soccer game and it’s chilly outside and the sun has already set and the card for my camera is still sitting by the computer, and all I want is to eat dinner, take a shower and go to bed, I wonder–will I make it? Can I possibly do one. more. day?

And on day number 299 I look, I see, I click and declare it a victory. I made it one more day. A success to put in my pocket. A discipline continued.

The reward doesn’t happen on day 1 or 20 or 364. In truth, the reward doesn’t even come on Day 365–at least not the real reward. I think the reward will come later. Much much later. Not after a year or two years or even seven years.

The reward, I think, will come many years later. Perhaps even after I’ve breathed my last breath.

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Yesterday, I completed the seventh year of taking (at least) one picture a day for an entire year. For seven years, I’ve made sure to pick up my camera, every day, to capture a moment, a memory, a story. And after all these years, after taking that 365th click, I’ve never felt regret–only gratitude.

When the last picture is taken, I gather them up reflect on the year. I pause, review and relive. I smile and laugh. Every now and then there are tears. Chad, look at how little she looks! Oh my goodness, he’s looks so much older! Oh, remember that weekend in Cleveland? That was so fun.

When I first began these daily picture projects, my intention was to grow in my skills. I wanted to prove to myself, or anyone paying attention, that I knew what I was doing. That I am a photographer. That I can take good pictures. In the beginning, the project was a means to an end.

As the years have moved forward, these daily pictures have become a personal passion. Despite the way the sand continues to slip through the hourglass, these daily images are a way of straining out the good and holding it in my hands. Preserving the moments. Capturing our memories.

I am grateful for a family who supports, encourages, and participates in the journey with me. Who, although they may not see the end that I see, give me permission, year after year, to capture our story in pictures.

When all is said and done, these memories are printed and memorialized in a book. Inside the book, my family reads my words and a short interview from each kid. Questions like, what was your best memory of 2018 and what fear did you overcome?

Each year, I watch as they thumb through the pages and I imagine what it will look like when their spouses are sitting next to them. Or their children are sitting on their laps.

And I wonder to myself. . . will they carry on this tradition?

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Whether they carry it forward or if it stops with me, I will always believe it’s worth it. Fighting through the monotony, finding the beauty in the everyday, slowing down, taking the time, and recording the moments. . .

Every year, it has been worth it.

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Happy New Year Friends. . .