Chapter V: Outside the Classroom
Let me ask you something. When was the last time you sat and talked with someone. I don’t mean sat and talked while texting, or driving, or drinking, or while watching TV, or distracted by any number of things our generation is easily distracted by. And also, not talking about materialistic things, or the exchange of different memories from the past night—putting that puzzle together. What I mean is when was the last time you sat with someone and spoke with conviction about things that mattered to both you and them?
I believe our generation’s interpersonal skills are suffering drastically from our inability to focus on something important for a long period of time.
American poet Taylor Mali believes our generation has an inability to speak with conviction, and that our conversations are but fluff filled with, “like’s, umm’s, and you knows.” I agree with him and have made an effort to speak more passionately, and converse more seriously with people.
This blog is a stepping stone for that, and the earlier posts about the homeless shelter were my first examples of truly writing with passion. And a recent afternoon of photographing Ospreys with a former professor was a good experience of meaningful conversation.
I spent three or four hours sitting on a milk carton next to my old professor, on the edge of a marsh, cameras in front of us, watching a family of Ospreys through lenses—creatures of nature that could see us better without lenses.
We waited patiently for the father Osprey to come home with food. The mother and three offspring—so far, a miracle in nature—waited patiently, too. We talked continuously while the Ospreys squabbled only occasionally.
In the grand scheme of life, what was said is less important than the experience of conversing with someone whose done it all before. And more importantly, building a strong and long-lasting relationship between teacher and student, craftsman and apprentice.
I can only imagine the satisfaction he gets from watching former students evolve, both as people and photographers. He attested that watching a personal style develop over the course of years, from graduating from point-and-shoots, to graduating college, to the first photo job, to the first big photo story, and the first big photo publication, is all unimaginably rewarding. And, moreover, that sharing these afternoons with former students is immensely fulfilling.
It is these strong relationships that are invaluably important in life, yet, I believe, our generation lacks them.
The Ospreys appear content, watching us watching them, resting next to each other, with no distractions but the beauty of the marsh. Perhaps they appreciate nature. Perhaps they are perturbed by man’s noisy impedance on their once serene home. Occasionally they spread their wings, never going far from those they share strong relationships with. And perhaps, there is something to be learned from them. That afternoon, sitting on the milk crates next to a former professor, was a good place to start learning.
