Irreplicable Moments

I was really struck last weekend on our hike in a national wildlife refuge about how the same steps in the same space are never quite the same.

I was looking forward to finding the same angle and view of the white oak trees with the fruitful hazelnut edge / understory that I photographed for my book. It was in fact the space I had already envisioned foraging for nuts, confident the same savanna edge would greet me as we walked through the prairie and open woods.

Alas, as we made our way along this five-mile loop, I wasn’t able to locate the same vista I had loved two years ago.

And that really gave me pause. Two years ago was during the height of covid. It was a time when we traveled only to our grocery store 2-3 times a month. A time when we were all huddled up together in the garden and home and hoping for better days.

It was also during the height of my book writing and photographing, a time when my eyes, ears, and heart were so focused on processing and understanding and crystalizing those thoughts onto paper and capturing it visually too. I have held onto this image of that space because I probably poured over dozens of similar images as I edited my photos in January 2021. I did this while my father was gravity-fed his liquid meals by my older sister, for he could no longer chew or swallow but he was starting one of the many fights of his life, though this one would quickly defeat him.

I have not fully recovered from losing him, and I honestly don’t think I ever will. I still don’t see the world through a similarly hopeful lens I once did. Everything looks different now. There is a before losing a parent, and an after. And it looks and feels very different. Things 13 months later remain, at times more so, dimmed. It was almost a mirage that I was able to capture that photo in September 2020, because I searched so hard for it last weekend and it completely evaded me.  

What’s also true is we went later in the day. It was a lot warmer out. And it was sunny. Previously it was a little damp, definitely chilly, and there was a September fog that hadn’t fully lifted for the day quite yet. And so, the energy last weekend was a swift and forward movement while two years ago it was more liminal and magical. And I feel that this different energy — a more industrious and less creative presence — encouraged my myopic views of my surroundings.  

We never see the same thing twice, but this was a moment where I lived and breathed it, and now I can’t stop reflecting to deeply understand what it was about my mind-body connection to this natural space that created the beautiful photo that now feels like a fairy tale moment from years ago.

So all this rambling is to remind each of us to leave each moment like it’s the only one we have, because we will never experience that moment again in the same way, ever. And, because we just don’t know which mundane moments will last a lifetime and make the deepest marks on our souls.