Choices

Katia Edwards and her son, John.

Habituation is necessary for survival. Without it, we would be awash in stimulation, unable to focus on traffic as we make a turn or a tree root that might fell us on a hike. Unfortunately, it also keeps us from seeing the beauty around us or opportunities that come our way. In our rush through the day, we miss so much that might otherwise lead to life-changing journeys. I was driving my regular route to the ballroom the other day when I noticed the Midway Book Store, a massive repository of used and rare books in St. Paul, Minnesota. I had not ventured into that store in more than 20 years, but I decided that day to check out its holdings on photography. What treasures awaited me inside. I bought two hardcover books: Portraits, by Helmut Newton, and Portraiture, by Imogen Cunningham.

I was familiar with both photographers but had never studied their work closely. Newton’s work concentrated on celebrities and fashion and was starkly sexual. Cunningham got her start in the studio of Edward Curtis, the most famous photographer of Native Americans. But her work was no less assertive or conventional than Newton’s. Of the two, I found Cunningham’s work to be the most profound. The subtleties of her images invited the viewer to linger, and made me want to hang them on my wall to enjoy over time. Had I not diverted from my daily routine to explore the bookstore, I would have missed this trove of ideas and beauty. What else am I missing? Alas, we cannot stop everywhere.

I bring this up because some friends were talking about what they wished they had known in high school, and how their lives might be different now as they enter middle age. Their comments were insightful but I remarked that whatever path they had taken, they’d be doing the same kind of analysis today. Every choice we make takes us down a path and deviates from the road not taken. Had I not wandered into Cinema Ballroom in February 2015, where would I be today? Would I have retired from my newspaper career to start a photography business? Perhaps, but likely not. What’s clear is that the essence that enervates my body would have followed its own trajectory as it matures. Which is to say, I’d still be me, only in a different setting.

I’m lucky to have traveled the path I’m on today. My ballroom dancing connected me to a master instructor, Eric Hudson, who connected me to a seamstress, Katia Edwards, who happened to be looking for a photographer. Katia, who is from Peru, is a folklorico dancer. She wanted some portraits in five different costumes, “before I’m too old.” I gave her a good price and got the job. Katia arrived at my studio with her mother and son John, a pre-med student and sometimes dance partner. The costumes were exquisite, and Katia came alive before my camera. My daughter and I particularly enjoyed the love Katia, her mother and son displayed. Had I not taken up ballroom dancing, which rekindled my love for photography, it’s unlikely I would have met them.

I am reminded of two passages from literature that I frequently draw upon for their wisdom.

The first, by Carlos Castaneda, is from The Teachings of Don Juan: A Yaqui Way of Knowledge: “All paths are the same: they lead nowhere. ... Does this path have a heart? If it does, the path is good; if it doesn't, it is of no use. Both paths lead nowhere; but one has a heart, the other doesn't. One makes for a joyful journey; as long as you follow it, you are one with it. The other will make you curse your life. One makes you strong; the other weakens you.”

The second, by Rudyard Kipling, is from The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam: “The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ, Moves on: nor all thy Piety nor Wit Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line, Nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it.”