A Thought on Perspectives

A long time ago, I saw a National Geographic video that featured one of the company's main photographers.

He made some very good arguments about the importance of PERSPECTIVE.

One photo in particular struck me. I think he was in Scotland on assignment to shoot a picture of this river for a story about fishing. The perspective that most photographers would have taken would be to shoot some men fishing on the river in a angular or clever fashion. He was there well before dawn and there were men on the river. After taking a few shots, he still couldn't feel the magic.

He is National Geographic's leading photographer after all. For him, what everyone else could easily see isn't good enough. He wanted to share an experience only he could see. Only then would it be perfect, unique, and touch the people of the world.

He needed a different perspective.

He turned around, putting his back to the river.

The rising sun was making the most glorious image of pink hued light on the river bed. It was magical. It was perfect. The shot that made the magazine no longer showed the perspective of what strangers walking on the bank might view the fishermen doing. It now showed the perspective the FISHERMEN got to experience every morning.

This made the more compelling story.

Yesterday, I went to another lecture with a professional photographer. He openly admitted that camera phones in the right hands were now as capable of making brilliant shots as a $6,000 camera. As he was instructing us on style, positioning, and lighting and why these factors were important in photography I was impressed with the other story he was telling.

Photography is a dying art.

"Selfies" are now more interesting than a good art shot...supposedly...I still think they're sloppy but in  rebellious-not-exactly-bad-just-not-something-I'd-want-on-my-wall kind of way.

The instructor and his wife are both professional photographers. As I watched them through the night I couldn't see a hint of worry about the future. Didn't they know they needed to get another degree in order to survive this harsh cruel world? Photography is dying. Weren't they worried about getting a job? What job could they get? He himself had told us that even reporters were being instructed on how to use camera phones and that the news photographers were being fired left and right because of it.

How could he not worry? I realize that not everyone is like me and worrying about if their art can sustain them. I was curious about how he could seem so sure in his craft.

The photographer let us in on a secret. He was often bored.

He had started with wedding shoots and senior pictures. Those became mundane. He knew enough about his craft that he was able to take a new perspective. He invented something to give his photos a unique feel. Other photographers saw this and wanted him to make this item for them to use. That started production and more inventions. He eventually became a professionals professional by going around the country to instruct photographers about how to make their pictures stand out from the camera phones.

Most people would be satisfied for the rest of their lives with this level of notoriety.

But, as expected, he quickly got bored.

He still experiments with way to create that next new shot. He's currently playing with elements like fire and water in his own backyard. He's always looking for the next shot. The next unique element. The next experiment that will allow him to show people something new.

The point?

Anyone can buy and shoot a camera.

It takes someone with a drive to continually find a unique perspective that will make his craft soar.

This relates to all art including writing. We all know that there are cliches in every work. The more T.V. I see the more cliches there are. People were starting to get lazy in their writing. Then some crazy geeks took over the screen writing field and shows like Doctor Who and Once Upon a Time became the stars of the networks. Not because of their genre, but because those who loved the genre decided to take a risk and deliver a new perspective on something everyone has seen before.

These new writers risked new turns of phrases, new plot endings, while destroying preconceived notions left and right to make room for their own unique story. My favorite? The bad guys actually WIN a couple of times to make a good guy win seem earned.

New clever plots and/or worlds are good.

Exploring the depths of the human experience is better.

Discovering those depths while learning about a new plot and/or world is the best kind of writing there is.

Perspectives: Part 2: Tiny Joys

I paced my room looking down at the white carpet. Winter darkness always makes doing things harder for someone like me; I love the daylight and early morning sunshine. Even in the coldest winter, if I see the sunrise peak under the bank of clouds, I am content for the day.

I studied my manicured toe-nails nestled in the carpet before bending down and doing a few pushups. Sunshine may give me vitamin D, but push-ups could give me that quick burst of endorphins and good feelings I needed to get through this evening.

It had been a good day at the office. I had been called in to substitute for another aide which meant I was able to work a whole two hours longer this week than the usual six. It’s not much, but at least it’s something.

One of the patients had recently damaged his shoulder in a construction accident. The physical therapist was asked to, “keep him limber,” for the impending operation by the doctor. It was hard to see the man and his wife grimace in pain as I instructed his workouts, but they would do him some good in the end. He is a fighter. He kept wanting to push his limits to the point where I had to start being mean.

I did try to start out kind.

“Don’t push so hard. Go as far as the pain, flirt with it, but don’t push it. Don’t slap it in the face.”

His lip twitched and his face contorted as he raised his arms a little higher.

“Don’t push pain. Flirt with it. You don’t have to go far.”

He nodded his head and raised his arms a little higher. His teeth clicked and he groaned.

“Stop it! Go lower. You can’t go that high today. Maybe after the operation, but right now that’s as far as you go.”

He was disappointed, but he lowered his arms in relief. Some patients don’t realize they are actually hurting themselves by pushing so hard, but they are still so inspiring in their determination to succeed.

Finishing the push-ups with a gasp I sat on the carpet and picked up the recently discarded classified paper. There were still a few rentals available. Pricey,  but available. Someday, when I have a second job, I can afford to live under one of the yellow highlighted addresses I’d been reviewing. I know living with my mom when I’m my age and I have a degree isn’t exactly looked highly upon by society. People perceive this as lazy, but those people don’t know my full story. They don’t know my mom is going to charge me rent as soon as I can afford it. They don’t know how bracing it is to always have someone to hug and roommates I love. They also don’t know that I really do want to move out and get on with my life; it’s just not an affordable option right now. And rather than going broke to make a point to people who don’t actually care, I’d rather save money and be smart for now until the opportunity presents itself.

I looked up at the solitary light bulb that bravely pushed back the early darkness from my room. Better than a night light. Maybe I should string up the Christmas lights I bought while in college? It is that festive time of year.

Christmas lights and Christmas time is a wonderful annual reminder of the goodness of humanity. Each light on a tree reminds us that for every knuckle-head in the world, there are at least ten good people who shine on quietly in the darkness.

The world is black and white but people are gray. Everyone is always fighting internal struggles against loneliness and self-depreciation. When we forget to fight these wars and try to bury them in meaningless things, life gets hard. However, when we face them and do tiny little good deeds. Not necessarily for anyone, not necessarily for ourselves, but when we do small good things, those small quiet good things tend to pile up into a good life.

I admire the Hobbits of Hobbiton in J.R.R. Tolkien’s fictional works. They take such pleasure and pride in simple actions and simple instances in their lives; green things, food, friends, pipe, and beer. They cherish the good and their culture naturally shunned the bad to the point where it almost didn’t seem to exist at all. They still had nosy neighbors and storms and the occasional problems. But there was peace, and quiet, and goodness in their lives that was focused upon and celebrated. If the world were more like Hobbiton and focused less on problems and differences and blame and more on neighborliness and responsibility and kindness and respect wouldn’t the world be grand?

“Christina?”

“Hm?”

“Deep thoughts,”

“Relatively so,

“Care to share?” My sister leaned on the door frame with a smile on her face.

“I could try, but I don’t know if I can get the whole thought out before the next thought starts.”

“You’re brain is unique.”

“In a philosophical kind of way, yeah.”

She laughed and closed the door.

How can people ignore all the tiny joys that fill this world?

Perspectives: Part 1: Trapped

Trapped.

Trapped.

Trapped.

I paced my room staring at the white stained carpet.

Just bend over, put your knuckles to the floor and do some push-ups or something.

I leaned forward a little, studying the closely woven fibers that cushioned my chipped toenails. Then I continued pacing. I wanted to and have the ability to but I couldn't do it. I hate winter. It’s a time when darkness falls at six and doesn't leave until eight the next morning. I am a day creature. I love the sunshine and early mornings that hold purpose and expectation. Evening darkness means sitting down time and preparing for sleep.

I hate sleep. Sleep means at least an hour of rolling over and over in a bed that creaks while waiting for my brain to relax and allow for the numbing sensation of REM thoughts to settle over it..

The real problem wasn't the darkness or my creaking bed. They were easy excuses. Ever since I was a child and saw my first adventure TV show I had dreamed of a time when I would be sucked into another world of excitement and survival. I would be a strong, confident warrior able to bravely and kindly face all odds, barely survive, and return home. People think J.K. Rowling invented the craze when thousands of eleven-year-olds wished for Hogwarts letters and the escape they promised. It wasn't her fault that millions wished for a chance at adventure, swords, conquest, exploration, and the accomplishment of physical tasks. In reality, it’s the whole culture of young adult coming of age stories coupled with an attitude of being young for as long as possible and the need to make virtual or mental achievements the highlight of young life that has caused the infestation of frustrated dreamers. What good is a certificate? A sandcastle holds more meaning. No wonder video games are popular. They at least pretend to have physical achievements.

It would have all been cured with a little dirty work and responsibility. There is power in the pride of accomplishment

I stopped and stared at the solitary light-bulb that limply pushed back the darkness that ebbed from two covered dark windows. Bending down again I picked up a section of the newspaper classifieds. Apartment rent has climbed a whole hundred dollars in the last year alone and now only occupies a single column. No one can afford anything. If they still built apartments that just had water and a stove I would have taken that in a heart-beat. Who needs dishwashers or microwaves when freedom is all anyone craves?

A degree I can’t use and a job that can’t afford to give me more than six hours a week. A mother who lets me live with her and a culture that calls this lazy at my age.

I've never been so frustrated in my entire life.

Adult-hood is dangerous, but there is no honor or glory in it. There’s just a lot of scraping and politeness and rejection. No great battles to fight. Just bills to pay. Comfortable life is so droll. Still, if it means the safety of my family I guess I can’t complain too much. It could be worse. We could be like the refugees who get shipped here from around the world. They seem to be doing alright stateside, but I can imagine the stories they could tell of their previous lives.

In the modern world, danger isn’t even on the outside. All the war and battle happens on the inside. Hidden and secret. Sometimes it leaks out into the news in stories about school shootings by the demented or depressed or in the stories about the rise in suicides, crime, obesity, and other sad things that happen because of what’s happening inside someone. People blame the state of incomplete souls on everyone and everything. Very few actually discuss battle strategies.

It is a very real war; the war of the mind and the state of belief and perception.

Everyone feels alone, abandoned,

Trapped.

It’s all a state of mind.

Madness is rewarded sometimes. The great creators and innovators of any day took risks and didn’t listen to safety warnings and made successes of their happy lives. The rest were given strait jackets or killed. The world is always changing always in a state of flux. It has forgotten to live in a state of peace and as a result its people have forgotten live in peace.

There always has to be “sides.”

“Christina?”

“Hm?”

“Deep thoughts?”

“Erm, yeah,”

“Care to share?” My sister peered into my room. I could tell she wanted to enter and help and make my life better. But there was just something wrong about allowing someone who couldn’t handle their own life to try and fix mine.

“Not really.”

“Oh…ok then.” She quietly closed the door.

How do people find joy in this obliterated world?

Cursed Love Life

The typical story of boy-meets-girl just isn't the same if you don't add a particular twist. A twist is necessary to get a good romance story going because without it, love would just seem too impossibly easy, not to mention fake. Like, "The Prince and Me," only worse. I'm not usually one for modern non-William Blake romance stories for that reason, but I will go as far as saying that I appreciate Jane Austen. At least she mentions things like family opinions, monetary values, and the importance of being an attractive personality in romantic relationships. Not just an attractive face. Modern romance seems to focus so much on...well...physical attachments. Since when are the Wiloughbys and Wickhams of the world valued as desirable life partners? They used to be called out as the selfish, egotistical, handsome faces that we love but enjoy observing from afar. Generally they're not the sort of people one is happy living with. Now they're the ones who are considered prince charming material? Its no wonder we're messed up.

My story is still in progress because of my particular twist, you see, I am cursed.

I had no idea I was cursed until a few years ago when I reflected back upon my love life and realized that every male I've ever held the slightest interest in has managed to get married within a year after I've met them...usually to a roommate of mine.

For years I had thought I was simply another statistic of modern times. I was an un-dated woman whose only crime was living in a sea of impossible to meet standards of perfection. Not to mention being steeped in a culture that had put way too many expectations and opinions on the subject. When my friends began to get married, I considered that I was maybe more awkward than I realized and the boys could see me stumble over my drooling tongue a mile away.

Turns out I do have "a face" when I am nervous about approaching someone new, man or woman. It looks a bit like a gargoyle who is somewhere between a snarl, a scream, or extreme constipation. The right half of my face lifts and my nose and eyebrows crinkle just a fraction and my eyes will look like a pair of bicycle tires. About as approachable as a rottweiler with dementia. But the cure to anything begins with identification right? I will simply not approach anyone if my face does anything unnatural from now on...the life of a spinster, yea...I'm doomed.

I would doubt the reality of my curse if it wasn't for the consistency in which it keeps happening, and at increasing rates. Seriously, every time I feel the slightest inclination toward someone they;

a) have a girlfriend/other interest
b) are engaged
c) are married or
d) are single, but soon attached to someone else.

What amazes me most is the speed at which the universe works to divulge this information to me. Not five seconds after meeting a seemingly good man. I'll notice him hand holding, or ring bearing, or he'll be giving me a vocal confession of his relationship status. I stopped counting after the eleventh guy informed me of his marriage. I know, I know, ring check, but what kind of lame desperate person does that? The guy does notice where your eyes go first when you meet them whether its the hand or his biceps. One is certainly more flattering to him than the other.

I tell myself that I just like making friends. However, when I get that hook pull feeling in my heart that signals the beginnings of attraction, I begin to worry about such things as rings and character and suddenly out comes gargoyle rottweiler snarly woman who can't look anyone in the eyes for fear of unknown expectations.

Perhaps being too picky was the real problem behind the curse? It wasn't like I was exclusively searching out the super models. They usually weren't my type anyway. My first crush/secret boyfriend was tall and skinny with dark hair, glasses, and pimple scars. Several of my other crushes were quiet types or types with disabilities. I've admired men of all sizes, shapes, ethnicity, and dress style. Unless you consider the matters of character, conversation, life style, and attitude, I have a hard time believing I'm picky at all. The only logical conclusion is that I must be cursed.

The curse has progressed to the point where I'm not even surprised anymore. After liking eleven married men you just stop counting and deal with it. Where am I now? About fifty failures? Don't even get me started on that Edison quote. A thousand failures before one win is hardly comforting to someone who doesn't even date once in a blue moon. Whatever witch decided to do me a number has got some serious voodoo. It's been at least five years now since my last boyfriend, I haven't the heart to count the time since my last real date.

Even the single men in my life are not exempt from this curse. Currently, there is every "yes" sign in the book pointed at one particular guy, Chris. He's an extremely tall, prominent faced man with standards that, according to his boss, would make him eligible for sainthood if he were Catholic. A perfect recipe for emotional disaster. Despite the glowing second hand resume I was given, I balked at the very idea of flirting. You see, like a cat with a squirt bottle, I've been very well trained. The universe may suddenly decide to mail him off to some other girl before I get the chance to flirt like its done twenty times before. Surely, it only does that to please it's sick sense of humor.

The universe hates logical people.

It must be because logical people are constantly trying to straighten out and measure the chaotic universe so it can be fit into a neat an orderly box. The universe. also not unlike a cat, isn't fond of boxes but is fond of playing with logic by introducing emotion in every equation logical people can come up with. Logically, I shouldn't try for him because if a + b = c and I know that because of my curse attraction + interaction = rejection; then why bother? However; the universe is sneaky. By writing him off immediately the universe has now decided to plague me with him through our mutual connections.

"So what do you think about Chris?"
"Will you see Chris today at Martial Arts?"
"You say you don't, but you totally like him. Why else does his name keep coming up?"

Because the universe hates me.

Actually, a man from Jujitsu, who is also Chris's employer at the small local radio station has requested me to help Chris in areas of communication because I'm so good at it and he's...not. As in he doesn't speak. Ever. OK, he's not Fitzwilliam Darcy bad, but he is bad. And he's supposed to be working in one of the most vocal intensive jobs in the world? I'd been asking people advice on just how to go about it. I'm usually so good with quiet people and getting them to talk. The problem with Chris is that he's just as good at running away. Unfortunately, because he's a single man and I'm a single woman who has been talking about him I've somehow given off the crushing vibe. Did I mention that I live in a culture that puts way too many expectations and opinions on the subject of romance?

It's as impossible to run from this guy as it is to find him. Ever since everyone starting talking to me about him he's been nowhere to be found. Not at church and not at Jujitsu. He's just gone.

The whole experience in irritating.

What can I do? I could tell them I'm cursed, but I'm not sure they'd believe me. Who believes in curses?

We'll see how this story pans out.

If You Give a Kid a Smartphone...

...they may begin to wonder about the future.

If that kid also works in a fruit stand, they may also see the rising price of food as elderly customers tremble over how little change they recieve. They may also see a grandmother or grandfather shake their heads sadly and walk away without anything.

The kid has a Smartphone, a digital device that can pretty much do everything and anything. She grew up with poor parents who knew how to save in such a way that they had never experienced want. These elderly customers the kid serves were once kids. They were children during the 1920's Great Depression.

Durring the depression there was all sorts of propaganda about saving, buying bonds for military equipment, and other things. Knee length dresses came into fashion largely due to the lack and expense of material available. Families rationed sugar just so they'd have enough to make a cake on someone's birthday. Gas was a luxery that was horded and was to be used only when absolutely necessary.

The saying, "Use it up, wear it out, make due or do without," was heard in every home.

Now the kid wonders about all this talk on Syria, the rising food and gas prices, the demonizing of people nobody really knows and then she realizes that the people who live today probably couldn't do what the people did in the 1920's.

The 1800's was full of cultural change and the settling of the West. The kids who grew up in the 1920's were the grandkids of pioneers, immagrants, and labor's who possessed only what they needed or less. They couldn't stop at a store in the next twenty minutes. If they were lucky and didn't get lost there were trading posts every so many weeks with limited supplies that the families would have to purchase with the few possessions they had. There was nothing and no one to help the pioneers but themselves. All they possessed they carried in wagons with teams, handcarts, or if they were really poor, on their backs. Many immigrants who crossed the ocean had even less. Some came with only a few dollars and a single outfit of clothes.

These were the people who raised the parents of the children of 1920. They were taught what bare minimum was needed to survive, how to be self reliant, and how to care for and help their neighbors who struggled next to them with kindness and respect.

The kid with the Smartphone remembers a Grandmother who tried to feed her a piece of old fruit that the child knew her mother would have never let survive in their own kitchen, but the Grandmother knew it still had nutrients. It still had what was necessary to survive.

The majority of the children of 2013 do have parents who are money savy and teach proper respect. These parents grew up in a generation that always had a steady rise in cost. In the 90's gas cost less than a dollar per gallon. Today it costs nearly four dollars. These parent have to budget month by month if not day by day to keep up with price changes in basic goods and they do know how to get by.

Their kids do not. They won't understand until they join the work force and realize just how much life costs.

The 1800's were a long time ago.

Kids think that basic needs include two-ply toliet paper, Gatorade, Neutrogena shampoo, heating and air conditioning, Tide laundry soap, diet or natural supplements, the internet, clothes that are good looking but easily destroyed, and coats that are merely fashionable and hardly warm. Things that go way beyond simple need and into the realm of want.

Wouldn't the people of the 1800's laugh?

This was the goal after all. Education, food on the table, a roof over everyone's head, isn't that the reason behind every sacrifice the people of the 1800's made? They wanted their kids to have something better.

But the Great Depression was forever ago. This is a SLOW decline.

Between then and now, it's only three generations.

Didn't take long did it?

The kid with the Smartphone sadly thinks that even they, the one who cleans out pounds of rotten and moldy food every day in order to sell one good clean box so they could someday maybe afford an apartment of their own, even they don't know what it means to do without. The one whose job only lasts a season and doesn't know where the next job or the next paycheck will come from, even they don't know what it means to not have much.

Because this is the one generation that has learned to stay latched to their mother's breast until a certain future can be found and this is the only generation with parents who can afford to allow them to do just that.

It's what we were told to do since kindergarten. Grow up, get an education, get a job, and you'll have an absolutely certain and stable future with money, a roof, food, and possessions if you follow the right path and keep your nose clean. And if the future is uncertain, we've taught mom and dad to make a nest egg next to their retirement for you.

It all becomes a lie if there's a WWIII. Resources will become scarce. Money means nothing. Nobody can afford anything. Not even a loaf of bread.

So the kid begins to wonder, perhaps, America is just ready to review that lesson again? Maybe America will be destroyed before people can begin to handle the kind of lesson previous generations had to bear. They only survived because of God and good people. This generation that doesn't know what it means to do without will probably need a few years to adjust to the idea before they can calm down and even think about their neighbors, let alone God.

Who knows what will happen in the next year or where the next generation will be?

Only God.

Risk, Regret, and Reward

"I don't mind failing but if we succeed it better be worth succeeding. Most people reduce risk to the point where the consequences of success are inconsequential." - Vinod Khosla.

This time of life is scary for anyone.

I just graduated Brigham Young University - Idaho. I'd been told my life story would play out a certain way if I played my cards as I was told to. Like a game, the right order would result in successful consequences.

Essentially, this was the speech I received over and over and over again...

College leads to better jobs. First you'll go through K-12 with decent grades. Then you survive four years of wearing prestigious university titles and finally BAM you make at least five digits because who wouldn't want to hire someone who had survived that stress ball of a life?

Reality check.

It actually takes an average of five years. Partly because there are just some classes you can't pass up because they seem so interesting, partly because they want us to maintain an illusion of being well-rounded. After a lot of invested time, if you're so lucky as to survive the Ramen Noodle toxicity, you'll be in a massive amount of debt. 'Cus of course we can all afford to spend 30,000+ dollars in a five year span while working part time. I got lucky and had supportive relatives and a job. Others aren't so lucky.

So in summary. The cards are never the same for everyone because everyone is dealt a different set and the other players can lay down whatever they want. I have no control over that. I do have control over what I have in my hand.

This is what I have. Free internet and a witty style. I've always wanted to be a writer, but to be a "real writer" you really have to work the networking field in the publishing industry. I'm told this is often how the not so great books get published. I'm also told there's a certain amount of politics in the publishing industry and frankly, I'd rather enjoy my craft then banter with people about legalities.

I like writing for these simple reasons

A) It's been my identity since second grade. I took a break for college and it's been killing me to not have a creative break after I've been chomping at the bit for so long. It's starting to come back to me now that I'm writing this entry. I guess sometimes you just have to start writing something.

B) It's ridiculously fun. All the wonderful brain play that can happen as you orchestrate events, realizations, and secret surprises for someone else to discover. It's a kind of mental gymnastics that mathematicians simply wouldn't understand.

Here is where it begins. I love to write. As someone who loves to write, why should I be terrified of actually putting my work out there? I could play it safe and wait for decades before a publishing house decides to give me the time of day, but next to being honest I'm also apt to becoming quickly bored with begging. Sure some ninny could steal all my creative genius off this blog and make it legal but I frankly don't care. It's their soul, not mine. As long as someone reads it I don't care whose name is on it. If my stuff is good, it will survive and the truth will eventually come out, if it isn't, well the thief will look like a fool then won't he?

In fact, I think I shall post stories of such a ridiculous nature here that only someone with my brain could possibly predict how the outcome is determined. Let's be honest, too many people know too many stories for there to be completely unpredictable outcomes. Either the hero wins or he doesn't. It's HOW he gets there that's fun.

As for job hunting, I suppose that will have to sort itself out as I continue to barrage work places with graphic illustrations of my amazing talents.

This is my game. Here is my hand. This I have control over.

So boys and girls,

Shall we begin the game?