Or how I quit fearing depression and learned to love it.

“The new normal” of our lives has destroyed so many aspects of our society. From crippling the economy for small business, to the social aspect of not being able to go outside in the summer and connect with our fellow man, this year has been a trying one, to say the least. That’s not even bringing into the equation of the 200k or more dead we’ve had at the toll of this new disease, another symptom of our globally connected world. So what can one do during a massive pandemic, when you’ve got no job to keep you on schedule and everyone’s started paying more and more attention to what can be filmed and shot with a phone app than your camera?

You drink. You drink a lot, and you try to ignore that clawing feeling that your hobby is something that’s just for your own justification for existence, that final straw that keeps you grounded and different from the people who otherwise just look at you like the comic relief for the night. You strive to show that even in the worst hours of the day, you can create and capture moments that can show artistic highlights and momentous occasions in your small life and help bring the scene to everyone who stumbles across it. But your constantly snubbed by people who label it as subpar, ignored for those very same people filming with a phone and a hotter smile, the people who constantly tell you they could do better. It’s normally just big talk for those with little walk, but after this summer, with all its trails from covid and its hatred from protests and murder, it begins to simmer. It bakes and broils under the heat of irritation and cools under the heavy sorrow surrounding not only yourself but the country in general nowadays. So you throw your gear bag to the side and focus more and more on that comfortable bottle, that feeling that with numbing yourself you can cope a bit better with the world around you and push off that call of the void that screams for you every night of your existence. No more getting used, no more getting ignored, just infinite darkness, and the comfort of oblivion. It calls, you hear, but you run from it due to fear and the desperate attempt to hang on. You know what would happen if you answer it, and you truly don’t want to put anyone through an ounce of what you’ve felt going through that.

So you wake up the next day, brew a pot of coffee, and drive hours away to take more pictures. That small glimmer of hope that maybe your work inspires or brings a smile to someone. Maybe someone will appreciate the hours of travel, setup, and shooting to bring an image from bumfuck nowhere to their hands, and help brighten their day. Lord knows it’s not making you any money, and you’re further in the hole every gear purchase you make to chase that dream of capturing that perfect shot. But, you keep going.

It never ends, but when it finally does, I hope it goes out with the perfect image. Thanks to all four of you who read these, and know that maybe it gets better further up the road.

Depression posting aside, have some shots from an airshow I stumbled upon, and a graveyard found when driving around with a friend. Kinda sets the tone to the current climate in my opinion.

Keep on keeping on,

KM