Month by month, photo by photo I’m making progress with this daunting task, key-wording, culling, editing, retouching the tens of thousands of photographs we’ve accumulated. The collection goes back to old print photographs we scanned into Lightroom, continues through our years together in Sacrament and on into our years in Alaska which have been punctuated with travels elsewhere and a two-year span in Mongolia.

Usually I’ve drawn energy from this project as I revisit memories and track the progress we’ve made as photographers. My editing and retouching skills have dramatically improved, and that too has been satisfying. But there have been low periods as well. Recently I pitched a story to the editor of a magazine. He liked the draft I showed him and asked for more. I finished the piece, sent it in… and nothing. It’s as though I’ve been ghosted. Unpleasant.

And so I find myself revisiting old questions. Have I lost the touch? Usually editors are enthusiastic about my work. Does “lost the touch” really mean “gotten too old?” Which leads to a downward spiral into the really big question I find hanging over my head at times: What if nothing ever comes of all this? What if this late-in-life push is, ultimately, pointless?

Things can get dark. But, are you enjoying your life? Barbra asks, trying to be helpful and cheering. The answer to her question is (on most days) an unequivocal Yes. And yet… and yet…

Faith in the past as an indicator tells me this moment of doubt will pass. That same past tells me that the only way to know is to keep moving forward. I suppose I could construct a metaphor about moons waning, disappearing… and then finding themselves again and waxing into fullness.

JD