Not a Photographer

I got a refurbished Nikon CoolPix L840 for my birthday a few years ago. It’s small and user-friendly and perfect for travel, which is really the only time I’m particularly inspired to take photos. It’s easy to go for the tourist-y photo ops when you’re an actual tourist.

In Denver, I wanted to go out and take photos every weekend, but I really only did twice. I was trying very hard to look like I lived there and wasn’t another transplant (though that’s exactly what I was) taking tourist photos with my point-and-shoot while beanie-wearing Coloradans with trendy tattoos stood next to me with their DSLRs, two different tripods, and a designer leather backpack full of lenses. I was intimidated.

I’m not a photographer. I don’t want to be. I like taking photos, but I have no real talent for it and no intention to improve.

Once the weather in Ohio became sunny and above 30 degrees, I got that old urge to pull out the camera. It’s become synonymous with the desire to hike and be outside that surfaces every spring. I put on a hat and was at the Clifton Gorge trailhead less than an hour after making this decision.

There is an interview with Bill Hayes in advance of his new book of photography How New York Breaks Your Heart that talks about his love affair with the city and the people in it. His previous book Insomniac City describes this relationship as though NYC is a living being worthy of affection. I guard this book closely for how it accurately describes my feelings of Denver, though I was there under a year and Hayes has been in New York since 2009. Some places take your heart just like people can. I don’t miss it like home, but I am homesick for both.

I’ve always liked hiking alone (I like doing most things alone, honestly), and the camera makes me slow down in different ways. I’m not just looking around me; I’m looking specifically for a good shot, and for the things I can’t catch in a photo. I can photograph the gorge next to me, but not the different sounds it makes at different points on the trail. I can zoom closely on the dead leaves still clinging to branches, but can do nothing at the exact moment the breeze catches them.

I saw several other photographers on the trail. One man stationed deep in the gorge, off the trail behind the flood warnings that urge people to not pass the trail markers. Another was walking along the trail like me, a large gear bag strapped to his back and walking sticks around his wrists. Mostly, though, it was hikers pulling out their phones at the overlooks.

When you look for the things worth photographing, they’re suddenly abundant. It’s no secret I’m struggling to love Ohio still. But as I look for more photo subjects, I see better how other peole can love it here, just like Hayes looks for the ways others love New York.

I was defensive of Fort Smith when anyone said there wasn’t anything there. I want to feel the same for Dayton.

Still no interest in being a better photographer. But I do want to love where I am better than I do.

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