Hello. It's Rajiv here again. I decided to call these podcast episodes, or give them an umbrella name. “Thinking aloud”.
So here's thinking aloud. Take your time.
I have divided this one into two small sections. The first concerns photography, and the second concerns writing. I'm splitting it into two because I take photographs and I write.
So let's start with photographs. Now, most people pick up a phone or a camera and start shooting. It's almost as if there is something inside them that says, Hey, you have a phone. You have a camera. There are people. Shoot, shoot, shoot. Don't do that. Pause. Look around. Take your time. Then shoot.
About a year ago, we were on a trip. A friend of mine approached me and asked me to teach her photography. We were out in nature. So I asked her to sit with me for an hour by the riverside. And she trembled with fear. “One hour?” she said,
One hour without my phone. And she squeaked. And I said, Yes. One hour without your phone. Without a camera. What do I do? She asked. I said, “Just sit.”.
She said, “I can't sit if I have to be sitting. I have to be doing something, and I will go crazy. And if I don't go crazy, I will sit down and chant my prayers.”
Now, the thought of sitting there without immersing herself in nature terrified her. She had no social media, nothing to share, no Instagram posts, Twitter posts, or Facebook posts. What the bloody hell was she to do?
“Sit by the river,” I said. “Sit by the river and listen to the water as it flows. Look around and see the light glistening on the leaves and reflecting off the water. Let the spirit of nature enter you and bathe in the atmosphere. Gaze up to the sky and the clouds, and you will feel the energy. Only then should you take out a camera and start shooting.”
“One hour?” she squeaked again. “No phone?” "Yes," I replied.
She walked away, never to return.
The Japanese have a fantastic concept called Shinrin Yoku-Forest. Bathing.
Unfortunately, most of us are cutting down forests. We are replacing forests and trees with concrete. And all that concrete does is create heat. But when you sit in a forest or by the riverside, you feel peace; you feel the energy. Now, it's only when you give yourself that time to immerse in the energy. It's only when you give yourself the time to observe what's happening around you. Only then will you be able to take good photographs.
Maybe you'll approach photography from a spiritual angle—I don't know—or from a technical angle. But once the energy enters you, you can take some excellent pictures. So take the time. Give yourself the gift of time.
I write.
I must confess that I do not have the skills to write a novel. I write blogs about travel, climate, and business. And, of course, I add stuff about photography. But soon, I will extend my skills to essays and travel books. I own a bunch of fountain pens, and I love them.
Fountain pens help break thought jams. That is a superb new term. Thought jams, traffic jams, thought jams, mixed fruit, jam, thought jams. When I started my substack publication, I used to dash off my posts with a little thought. The prospect of thinking, editing, and rewriting often scared the hell out of me. But I am moving past these old blogs, and now I plan my schedule. I run the post in my head several times, research, and then write.
After that, I edit and rewrite bits and pieces of the stuff.
And there is this famous author who writes these scary novels. Now, his name is going off my head. His professor once told him all writing is rewriting. So you have to write, plan your stuff, do your research, and then rewrite. Writing is hard work. Never assume. It's like a walk in the park with your partner. Walking in the park can be hard if you have a bitter argument with your partner. You can't just pick up your pen and write. Think, plan, write, and rewrite. And, maybe, do it again. And again and again.
Take your time. Give yourself the gift of time.
That's what we have. Most of us claim we don't have time, but you have to give yourself the gift of time. Finally, inner silence. And maybe I'll talk about silence another time. Ciao, Ciao, for now, and see you next time.
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