Category Archives: Personal Growth

Holding Steady

Posted by dkrashb on
A shelled and partially chewed hickory nut lies on a bed of moss

A shelled and partially chewed hickory nut lies on a bed of moss

I went on a nature walk with the Chattanooga Audubon Society Saturday.  I ran late leaving because I was so engrossed in a book.   When I realized it was time to go, I grabbed my camera with a 100mm macro lens on it.

I haven’t shot macro in a long time.  This is in part because it takes a lot of time.  To get good macro shots, a tripod is essential and I spend a lot of the time on the ground, sometimes crawling through things I’d rather not crawl through.

But today, I decided to try shooting macro without the drama.  No tripod.  No garbage bag to lie on.  No loupe to check focus.  No reflector to bounce light.  No baggage to get in my way.  This has become my modus operandi of late–just grab the camera and one lens and see what I can get while I’m out doing something else.

I learned this often beautiful fungus (although past its prime here) is commonly called "Turkey Tail"

I learned this often beautiful fungus (although past its prime here) is commonly called “Turkey Tail”

Of course, reviewing my photos, I missed my equipment.  Standing in awkward positions, hovering over various fungi and tiny plants is not the best way to get sharp images.  But was I on a nature walk or was I doing macro photography?  I was on a nature walk and I happened to get a few shots I kind of like.  I also got a bunch of shots I don’t like at all and a few in between.

A funny fungus that's supposedly edible. Can't imagine it's good. Unfortunately, a little motion blur in this one

A funny fungus that’s supposedly edible. Can’t imagine it’s good. Unfortunately, a little motion blur in this one

A lot of photographers will not share photos they don’t think are really good.  No photo is perfect.  And at some point, it takes courage to say “this photo is enough” and share it.  In fact, it probably requires more courage to share something you think is really good than it does to share something you think is just good enough.  After all, if you really believe your work is fantastic and someone knocks it down, it hurts a lot more than if you didn’t think it was that great to begin with.

The entire length of this Box Elder looked like this--a deep carpet of bright green moss

The entire length of this Box Elder looked like this–a deep carpet of bright green moss

I find myself wondering if I am a coward hiding behind grab shots rather than putting something up that I really believe is beautifully executed.  Sometimes, not putting yourself all-in can indicate a lack of courage.  If I’m not all-in, you can’t hurt me–at least not all of me.

Here's something you don't expect to find in January--wild violets (a spring ephemeral) popping up

Here’s something you don’t expect to find in January–wild violets (a spring ephemeral) popping up

On the other hand, to be willing to do things halfway allows time and energy to do more.  After all, if I went on the nature walk without my camera, I would still be out shooting and not sitting here pondering the philosophical aspects of deciding to be a “real” photographer vs playing at being one when it’s convenient.

Ultimately, is going halfway an act of cowardice or just setting a limit that allows me to enjoy more?  I think the answer lies in how much I want to end up with better images–how passionate I feel about producing an image I’m proud of.

While I’m busy figuring it out, please enjoy what I’ve got.

Tisen has decided he's OK with my halfway photography (taken with iPhone)

Tisen has decided he’s OK with my halfway photography (taken with iPhone)

Missing Sunset

Posted by dkrashb on
Fog definitely affects my mood

New view at sunrise–well, it would be sunrise if the sun actually rose on this day

 

Watching sunset from our old place

Watching sunset from our old place

When major changes happen in life, whether they are changes we wished for and chose or changes that came unexpectedly and outside our control, they come with a combination of loss and gain.

When we choose the change, we tend to focus on the gain.  When we don’t, we think more about the loss.

I suppose this is only natural.  When unexpected change happens to us, we were probably not really wanting anything to be different.  When we choose change, we usually do so because we’re unhappy or dissatisfied with some situation; we presumably perceive the new situation as better or we wouldn’t have chosen it.

But I have a theory.  My theory is that we are at least as likely, if not more likely, to end up happier when change happens to us than when we choose change.

Same sunset, earlier

Same sunset, earlier

We go willingly forward into change we choose with high expectations that making this choice will have a long-term, positive effect on how happy we are.  But, as my husband says, “you’re still you.”  We can move, change jobs, buy cars, take classes, earn degrees, have children, start a new hobby, but we still take ourselves with us.  The joy in the new change fades and we are right back where we started.

That is not to say we cannot change and grow.  Only that making changes in our life situation rarely results in us becoming happier people unless those changes are preceded by a lot of soul searching to figure out what exactly we’re really dissatisfied with.

On the flip side, when an unexpected change comes along (assuming, of course, the unexpected change wasn’t anonymously receiving the winning lottery ticket), we have the opportunity to rally our courage, face the unknown, and rise to the occasion.

Sky full of gray over our new view

Sky full of gray over our new view

We don’t go into these changes with the expectation that we’re going to be happier.  We go into them with a sense of mourning and loss and the determination to get through somehow.  There is only an upside.   Plus, it’s the scary, out of control life events that motivate us to do the kind of soul searching required to make lasting change.

I think of all the times that someone has said, “it was the best thing that ever happened to me” about something that was initially perceived as awful.  I try to think of an example of any change I have chosen in my life situation that resulted in me saying that.  So far, every one of them comes with caveats.

For example, we decided to move last month.  Not exactly true to our nomadic intentions, we moved about 500 yards.  I’m not sorry we moved–it’s quieter, the neighbors are great, and we now have 2 bathrooms (that’s a big plus!)–but there are still some downsides.  For one, I miss the sunsets and sunrises from the roof.  Perhaps it’s more because the weather has been so gray lately, but I really want to see the sun soon.

Last bit of sunset from old view

Last bit of sunset from old view

The sun is rising, but not within view--we get to see fog over the ridge

The sun is rising, but not within view–we get to see fog over the ridge

 

 

 

Welcoming 2013

Posted by dkrashb on
Interesting clouds over Chattanooga

Interesting clouds over Chattanooga

Having embarrassed myself yet again by writing my blog post way too late at night, I thought I would try writing at a decent hour tonight.

In honor of the new year, it seems only appropriate to think about what I’d like 2013 to be like.  As some of you may recall from last year, I am a bit of a resolution-phobe.  But, it is always good to reflect on a year past and thinking about what things should come forward and which things I’d like to leave behind.

Unreleasable Prairie Falcon in Oregon

Unreleasable Prairie Falcon in Oregon

First, I have enjoyed exploring the world through a camera regularly over the past year and a half.  I don’t think I’ve gone more than 2 weeks without shooting in 2012.  This has provided me with a new way of looking at the world that I can only describe as a sense of careful observation combined with vast appreciation.  I notice things I have not noticed in the past.  I wait for things to unfold with a patience I have trouble finding without a camera.  I work at getting better with both acceptance that I am imperfect and faith that I can improve.  All in all, photography gives me joy and hope.  This is something I want to keep in 2013.

Parking lot in Portland, OR

Parking lot in Portland, OR

Second, during some parts of 2012, I managed to strike a balance between the things I love to do and the things I have to do.  I lost that balance and now I want it back.  Taking time out to bike, row, hike, do yoga, and bird/teach keeps me feeling happy and makes me better at everything else I do.  I don’t have to do any of them really well, I just have to set aside all the things worrying me and go enjoy some time on my bike, on the river, on the mountain, on the mat, or with the birds.  It’s a simple formula that requires making room in my schedule.  This is something I want to regain in 2013 and I don’t want to wait for the weather to get warmer.

Assisting at a Wings to Awareness educational program for 3rd graders

Assisting at a Wings to Awareness educational program for 3rd graders

Third, I really enjoy the time we spend with family and friends.  Living remotely from many of the folks in those categories makes that tough.  For 2013, I’d like to have more contact with more people I feel close to whether it’s over the phone, in person, or via FaceTime, these are the people who keep me grounded.

Sharing Point Park with family last summer

Sharing Point Park with family last summer

Finally, I have occasionally written about finding peace and, through finding it internally, creating it externally.  That’s really what the previous 3 things are about–creating a sense of internal peace that help contribute to more happiness in the world.  It seems like a small contribution, but as the Dali Lama said:  “If you think you are too small to make a difference, try sleeping with a mosquito.”  Besides, a small contribution towards happiness is better than a small contribution towards anguish.  A compassionate, peaceful life.  That’s what I look forward to in 2013.

Enjoying a well-earned view after a 5-mile hike on Lookout Mountain

Enjoying a well-earned view after a 5-mile hike on Lookout Mountain

Getting onto the water not quite gracefully

Getting onto the water not quite gracefully

Raised Hands

Posted by dkrashb on

Today’s photos provided by my guest photographer and husband, Pat.

Today, I did a volunteer gig instead of eating lunch.  The company I work for provided a grant to fund taking an educational program using birds of prey to underfunded schools that can’t afford special programs.  I’m psyched about having the opportunity to work with both the kids and the birds.

But, when I arrived at the school, I got a text message from one my best friends in the world, Gina.  She was having a bad day.  Her text to me was representative of something I feel all the time.  It was along the lines of “I feel invisible.”  Dismissed, unheard, unimportant, irrelevant.

These are the words that describe the worst feelings any person who regards herself as a valuable asset in the workplace can have, except maybe fired.  But, I suspect it’s the fear of being fired and what that represents to us that makes these feelings so difficult to deal with.  We all want to feel indispensable.  Invisible and indispensable don’t work in the same sentence (except, of course, this one).

I returned from vacation vaguely disappointed that the entire company didn’t come to a halt while I was gone.  It hurts my ego to realize the company didn’t even skip a beat.

But there I was, about to meet two 3rd grade classes with a bunch of birds and I’m getting this text that reminds me about my own fears of inadequacy in a corporate, adult world that often feels foreign to me.

I set my phone aside and focus on the event at hand.  The 3rd graders file in and the program begins.  The children are fascinated.  They smile, laugh, and look amazed.  Not mildly interested and politely faking amazement.  No, they ARE amazed.  And I don’t mean that in the over-used, can’t-think-of-a-better-word sort of amazed.  I mean they were surprised and delighted that something so wondrous as the opportunity to pet a Screech Owl and feed a Black Vulture was happening to them.

And then, they start raising their hands.  They want to be called on.  As each takes their turn, it becomes evident they often don’t know the answer to the question they volunteered to answer or they don’t actually have a question even though that’s why they were supposedly raising their hand.

I had the sudden realization that these were children who feared invisibility.  They raised their hands not because they had something to say but because they didn’t want to disappear in the crowd of their peers or the rules of their teachers who seemed to largely focus on making sure they behaved.

Behaving seemed to be an act of making oneself invisible.  But raising your hand, speaking out, those are acceptable actions that allow you to stand alone and be recognized.  A statement of being worthwhile, important, relevant, and noticeable.

It all suddenly seemed so simple–it’s all about raising your hand.

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Crossing Bridges

Posted by dkrashb on

I love my dog.  I love him for many reasons, but today, it’s because every day he reminds me that we can learn, we can grow, we can be completely different than we were before.

How many times do we hear people say “you can’t teach an old dog new tricks”?  As someone who strives to learn every day, I know first hand how hard it can be to undo decades of habit to do the thing I will myself to do.  Many days, I feel like it’s an impossibility.  Then, I have days when I do things like fly off a mountain in a hang glider and I know that anything is possible.  But, sometimes I walk away thinking that maybe flying off a mountain in a hang glider doesn’t ultimately change anything at all.

That’s where Tisen comes in.

Tisen has transformed himself from a nearly-dead street dog to a urban-dwelling, middle-class gentleman who likes to hike.  He wants to make me happy.  That’s his bottom line.  While I’m not sure I could handle a person being so into me, in a dog, it’s kind of nice.

When we went to Savage Gulf Natural Area to hike the other day, we encountered something called a suspension bridge.  The dreaded structure was not the kind of suspension bridge you drive over, but rather a flexing, swinging, bouncing rope-and-wood bridge meant for no more than 2 pedestrians at a time.  These bridges make me nervous; I have no idea what they are like for a dog.  For Tisen, it was clearly a gauntlet of terror.

First, he would not step onto the bridge at all.  I walked across first to give him a reason to cross.  Then Pat came behind, encouraging Tisen to come with him.  Tisen considered climbing down a sheer rock cliff to the stream below over walking onto the bridge, but Pat managed to get him up the entrance ramp to the bridge.  But there, he stopped.  It wasn’t until Pat had crossed and Tisen was left standing alone that he decided he’d better cross.

He made it all the way across the gulch (which really wasn’t so far below as to be completely terrifying), got to the top of the exit ramp, stared down at me with his longing eyes, then eye-balled the ramp down to me and decided he’d had enough.  He turned around and went all the way back across the gulch.

We managed to coax him back across and all the way to land on the other side.  We completed our hike to Savage Falls and then wondered what was going to happen on the way back across.  When we got to the suspension bridge, I went across first, Pat coaxed Tisen up to the bridge, and Tisen led the way across looking like he’d been crossing suspension bridges most of his life.

In about an hour, Tisen transformed himself from a ‘fraidy cat to a top dog.  He’s my hero.

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Finding Joy

Posted by dkrashb on

Shifting gears from focusing on the things I want to do to the things I must do on a Monday causes me to think about joy.  Joy is one of those feelings that took me a long time to distinguish.  I finally decided the main symptom of joy versus run-of-the-mill happiness, amusement, infatuation, or any other emotion that might camouflage itself as joy is that my eyes well up just a little.

My chest also feels like it’s filling with something.  My throat constricts slightly.  The physical symptoms are the same as if I’m about to have a good cry.  But I don’t feel like crying–I’m too busy grinning.

The thing about joy is that it always surprises me.  It’s always the tiny things I so often overlook that suddenly create this overwhelming sense of, well, joy.  There really isn’t a synonym.

When I take Tisen out, his tail wags in time with his foot steps as he prances along like a tiny horse.  The joy of this wag overwhelms me.

When Tisen wiggles his way closer to me just before falling asleep, I smile until I ache.  When Tisen eats his food like he really enjoys it, I nearly do cry.

But it’s not all about Tisen.  The other day, I was walking in the park and saw a small bird perched on top of a light post.  It was back-lit and I couldn’t make it out until I got to the other side of the pole with the sun behind me.  It suddenly burst into the full color of an Eastern Bluebird.  I felt like I’d been let in on a joyful secret.

Sometimes, all it takes is noticing the arrangement of stray branches casting a shadow over a pool of water.  Or a puff of clouds forming a smiley face.  Or a stranger walking by and saying hello with a twinkle in their eyes.

Joy seems to create its own momentum.  After I notice one joyful thing, I suddenly start noticing more.  It’s like getting a glimpse causes me to look for more.  I am reminded of the filter that decides what information to process versus what to ignore.  If you’ve ever bought a new car and suddenly noticed every one on the road, joy is like that.

At the top of the big hang gliding hill yesterday, I stood for just a moment and looked all around.  The grass, the trees, the sky, the mountains.  All there just for the price of noticing.  This is what people mean when they talk about smelling the roses.

Ironically, when I need joy in my life the most, it’s the hardest to find.  I get wrapped up in suffering and suddenly the sunrise isn’t worth noticing, the trees are just trees, and a wagging tail is just a wagging tail.  I wonder what it would be like to be able to see the things that make me smile when I feel the least like smiling?

The Big Hill

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It’s Sunday morning and 5:00AM.  We are flying today.  In fact, today will be my maiden voyage off the big training hill.  While most people might not celebrate this milestone, this is such a momentous occasion for me, I cannot help but get excited.  It has taken me 53 flights off the small hill to get to the big one.  I am sure I’m am getting close to a flight park record.

We take Lucy, our foster dog with us to the training hills.  She has been dying for an opportunity to run around and the training hills are the perfect place.  When we arrive, she literally runs a few laps around the field just out of sheer joy.  It reminds me of our girl, Katie, who used to jump in any body of water we got close to and swim laps just because she loved being in the water.

There are 4 of us flying today.  3 of us are re-clearing for the mountain and have already taken several mountain flights.  I’m not part of that “us.”  I’m the only one who has never flown off the big hill before.  When I get up to the top, I decide to go last in the rotation.  I want to watch the others launch before I take this on.  The big hill doesn’t look very intimidating from the ground below, but from the top of the hill, it might as well be the mountain.

My stomach does a flip as I look down across the field below.  For a moment, I consider going home.  But I remember the feeling of being lifted off the ground the first time.  The joy the memory evokes helps me find a little courage.  Everyone assures me I will like the big hill better than the small hill–it’s easier to launch because of the vertical drop.

Ironically, it’s this vertical drop that worries me so much.  What happens if I don’t launch before I reach the drop?  But, I go ahead and hook in when it’s my turn.  I go through the hang check, my stomach getting tighter.  Pete, the instructor, talks to me about just flying straight and level.  He makes it sound easy.  He assures me I will launch.

I pause, do my pre-flight mental check, channel David Hasselhof, push my shoulders back, stand up straight, and call “clear.”

I hear Pete behind me, reminding me to walk, jog, run.  Then, I am airborn–really airborn!  I cannot judge how close I am to the ground.

My glider starts to turn and I try to correct.  I get the glider straight just in time to feel the ground effect and realize it’s about time to land.  I get my hands up and flare, landing on my feet and walking away as the glider floats back down to my shoulders as Lucy comes running over to check on me.  All I can think is, “I want to do that again!”

Book Smarts

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There’s an expression about being book smart vs street smart.  The idea suggests people are either smart in theory or smart in practice.  In reality, of course, no one is really all one or the other.

For example, I can study how people move their bodies up stairs, determine an appropriate exercise regimen, and create a plan that will make me better at climbing stairs using book smarts.  But I can’t actually get better at climbing stairs except by, well, climbing stairs.

Since there is no room for trial and error when hang gliding, knowing what we’re doing and why helps.  And, since hang gliding truly is the application of physics, it makes sense that getting rated as a pilot would require some book smarts.

Here is where I run into a line that divides book smarts from street smarts.  I am able to read the material through once, review it quickly, and then score what would be an “A.”  However, when I return to the training hills, I am unable to translate what the material said into what my body does.  This disparity between concepts in a book and physical application frustrates me.

But today, we are in my element.  We are taking our final two tests.  I read through the materials and took notes the day before.  I think we will be done around noon given that it’s only 10AM.

As it turns out, I finish up my second test shortly after noon.  Pat, on the other hand, has not finished the reading material for the first test yet.  Mind you that Pat is someone who fully understand mechanics and physics in a way I never will.  However, his in depth understanding of how things work doesn’t seem to help him speed through test taking.

At 2PM we run out and grab a bite to eat at the closest place around. It’s a combination gas station, convenience store, hamburger joint–an honest to goodness family owned place.  After filling our stomachs, we return to the office and Pat takes his first test.  I, thankfully, have my iPad for amusement.

I’ve gotten through an episode and a half of Glee by the time Pat takes his completed test up to the desk.  After a while, I hear him talking.  He has met Matt Tabor, the owner of Lookout Mountain, and they are gabbing.  I finish the second half of the episode I’m watching and decide I need to intervene.

It’s an interesting conversation and I get sucked in.  I eventually remember that my goal was to get Pat on task and I remind him I am waiting on him to finish his second test.

At 6PM, we have to leave because they are closing for the night.  Pat has 15 questions to go on the test, but he calls it a night and we head on home.  Since completing the test now requires backtracking, I am more irritated than he is.  I remind myself that this is fun.

Don’t Want to Miss This Syndrome

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Once again, I find myself shooting the sunset.  Every time I sit down to process photos of the sunset taken from our building, I promise myself I will find a new perspective and not create yet another 100 shots that look like the thousands I’ve taken before.  But then, I look out the window, see amazing things, and grab my camera.

There are several problems with this.  For one thing, I tend to get a very busy foreground with a lot of crap in it I’d really like to get out of my pictures.  I can’t crop the crap out because I would lose much of the sky, which is the whole reason I wanted to shoot in the first place.

The choices that must be made when shooting!  Wouldn’t it be nice if I could just arrange the buildings and landscape with a remote control to best fit my vision?  More realistically, I keep thinking I will run across the street and up the mound so I can shoot over the trees.  But do I ever do that?  No.  I panic when I see the sky and don’t want to miss the perfect color even though I almost always end up deleting the first 10 minutes worth of shots because the color gets better as the sun disappears.

I believe I suffer from “Don’t Want to Miss This” syndrome.  Besides shooting sunsets from bad view points, I also find myself eating foods that no human should ever touch, attending events that are of no interest to me, and taking unreasonable risks (ask me how I once ended up in an ultralight crash).  I wonder if I were in a flock of sheep I would follow them over a cliff just to find out what that was like?

Restraining myself to the subject of photography for the purposes of this post, I find the “Don’t Want to Miss This” syndrome causes an all or nothing kind of pursuit of photos.  It just depends on whether my phobia of missing a shot is outweighing my phobia of missing an experience because I’m too wrapped up in camera gear to participate.  What I need is balance.

The thing about sunsets is that it’s easy enough to find out what time the sun will set.  And, I’m getting pretty good at predicting when we’ll have a great one (which is pretty much about 75% of the time), so seems like I should be able to just plan to go across the street at the right time and shoot.  Perhaps scheduling shoots a few times a week would help balance out the equation?  While I might still grab shots when I notice a sunset, at least I wouldn’t always be shooting from the same place.

Is it too late to change my New Year’s resolutions?

Graduation Day

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Today, I went to the hang gliding training hills.  It was one of those days that combined ridiculous mistakes with unexpected successes.  Although I had my share of spills and chills today (see video), in the end, I passed the required test of successfully executing 4 Hang I flights in a row.  This means I move to the big hill.  Not the mountain yet (thank goodness!) but from the bunny hill to the big hill.  It’s a momentous occasion.  As my instructor said, I’ve worked hard for this moment.

I pause and think about this for a moment.  I don’t believe I’ve ever worked so hard for so long on achieving a novice skill level in my life.  This is a point of pride–to have stuck it out for so long just because it was fun.  I let go of my expectations, goals, and frustrations and just had fun.  Had I done anything else, I would have quit after the 3rd day out on the training hills.

As it is, I’ve flown down that baby hill so many times, I’ve gotten attached to it.  I can tell stories about the community on that hill.  The women who inspired me to keep trying–especially one who told me she’d been coming out for over a year and was still learning to land on her feet (she’s been coming out infrequently).  The student who was 60 years old and learning to hang glide for the first time. The dogs who have accompanied me through my journey from ground school.  The instructors who insisted it was OK to be on the slow plan.  Even the view from the hill of the mountain ridge, the big hill, the trains, the deer that would occasionally wander by.

All of it together kept me coming back.  And now, I find myself attached to that small hill.  As I ride the Kubota over to the big hill, I find myself actually tearing up a little.  This catches me by surprise.  I’m confused as to whether I am sad or overjoyed.  Having never given much thought to this day, not really believing it would ever happen, I find myself unprepared for the sudden emotion.

I perch on the edge of the big hill looking down and am amazed at how much bigger it really is.  I look across the training grounds and realize that while I have been enjoying the journey instead of focusing on the destination, I managed to arrive at the destination full of wonder and excitement.  This is a new lesson for me after a lifetime of holding so tightly to goals that I squeeze the life out of them.

The wind doesn’t cooperate today.  There is only one direction to fly off the big hill and we decide today is not the day for my first flight.  As I head back down, I am neither disappointed nor relieved.  After all, it’s taken me 5 months to get here, I’m in no hurry.