Honoring the sadness
For those of us documenting daily life, the question can arise on how to cover tragedy on our pages and in our albums. I know this was something I looked at with a heavy heart during the Newtown tragedy. Again, for the Boston Marathon bombings. And now for Oklahoma.
If there's one thing I am connecting to lately, it's that life is completely unpredictable. There is joy. And there is sadness. It's all part of what we signed on for, whether we like it or not.
We can withdraw from it. We can outraged by it. We can quickly brush by it on our way back to normal. Or we can observe it—head on—and let it in, and let it change us. Let it change how we live and breathe.
I was driving by my neighborhood elementary school yesterday, saw the kids out on the playground and was overcome with grief. I've never been much good at blocking stuff out—stuff like bombings, and shootings, and destructive acts of nature—but only recently have I begun to really embrace sadness and let it in, and let it begin to change me.
Let it become a part of me.
Yes, that's therapy talking. I've paid a lot of money to learn about all the ways I've tried to block and control any pain of any kind in my life.
I've paid some immense prices for trying to acquire a type of control that doesn't even exist.
Life will always remind us who is in charge. Some of us pray and some of us hope—but we are often reminded that the unexpected is part of, well, life.
As I continued past the school yesterday, I was thinking of the lyric from a song that I always recall during any time of sadness, The Night I Heard Caruso Sing by Everything But The Girl.
…it's time to hold your loved ones, while the chains are loose, and the world runs wild.
I created a card for my Project Life album. I guess I wanted some way to remember this feeling of how miraculous this whole thing is—this life I live—while also honoring the sadness.
File is in PDF, PNG and layered PSD.
Thanks for reading today.