When I was in high school, I used to snap photos all the time. My dad gave me his old Nikon F3 and I’d take it with me everywhere. I loved that camera.
I still have piles of old photographs I developed in my high school darkroom. Some of them good; some of them just meh. I guess I never thought much of it because don’t all girls go through an experimental photography phase?
But over the years, I harbored a secret love for photography. Maybe I’m not as talented or consistent as my father, uncle and brother — all talented photographers — but I’ve always been aware of special moments. Maybe it’s the writer in me: I see write-able moments everywhere and I want to photograph them too — so I can remember them just right.
That’s why my iPhone is full of random photos I refuse to delete.
Earlier tonight, some little voice in me told me to pull my DSLR out of the closet. And though it’s freezing cold outside, I couldn’t help but take photos of the NYC skyline and streets on our little balcony.
And it felt brilliant.
I don’t know if the photos are any good, but all I know is that I feel a warmth and joy at tapping into my creative side, whatever form it may take. Photography is no exception.
So, conclusion: I think I should take more photos. With my actual camera. Capture more of those write-able moments.