Observing The Extraordinary In The Ordinary
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Most of us remember the high points of our life stories with pride and happiness, and we remember the low points with regret and grief, but that is not where most of us live our lives. For most of us, most of the time, life is lived in the middle—the place of the ordinary experiences of life.
For a year, my husband and I have lived in the desert, at the very southern tip of Nevada, where California, Arizona and Nevada meet along the meandering route of the Colorado River.
Six days a week, we get up very early and walk to Mountain View Park. The park is beautifully maintained, with green grass and flowering shrubs that bloom in the desert only because of copious amounts of water poured onto the land every morning. It is also a park in the desert, and so, much of the vegetation are desert plants.
So, we walk exactly one mile up a rather steep road, down a short access road, and then walk around a path that is two-thirds of a mile long, and then we go back down the long hill to go home for breakfast.
It is an ordinary routine. The same route and the same path around the park. Usually, we see the same people, and often stop for conversations. On Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, we use the exercise equipment along the path.
Every day is the same, and yet, every day is also different. The big difference is not the location, but the images captured by the camera I carry with me almost everywhere I go. My life story becomes a story told in pictures.
Every day I take pictures of the same things, the same mountain peaks, the same plants. I take a “daily shot” in the same location every morning of the view from the lower end of the park, looking back across the ball fields, toward the mountain peaks in the background.
There is nothing remarkable about this scene and it will never be featured on the cover of National Geographic. And as a photographer, I would love to get rid of the light poles and bright blue trash cans that are almost impossible to hide. But I take the daily shot because it is what it is—a scene I see six days a week. I take the same shot every day, and yet, every day something is different about it.
"Daily Shot" In Mountain View Park
Most of the people who walk in the park are there to accomplish some purpose. They are there to walk their dogs—the dogs that chase rabbits. The dog owners laugh as each terrified bunny runs for cover under the nearest brittlebush.
Or daily park vistors run or stride several laps around the path. Most exchange greetings. Some don’t. They stare straight ahead, as if they are on an urgent mission, and cannot stop for anything or speak to anyone.
Or they walk with friends, and talk intently, telling stories about something that happened the day before. The basketball playoff they watched. The complaining customer who sent back the plate of food. What Barack Obama said about the economy. They tell life stories, because this is what people love to do.
Once, a woman I see almost every day as she walks her dog asked me: “Why are you taking pictures?” She said she had wondered and decided to ask. I told her I take pictures of whatever catches my eye that day, that I always see something that interests me. I don’t know what she thought about my answer, but I suspect it made little sense to her.
We still greet each other every morning, as she walks her dog and Jim and I make the circuit around the park. We often overhear a brief snippet of her latest installment in her daily life story of unfairness, which she tells at high volume to anyone who walks with her.
Meanwhile, I still see something that interests me every morning, although there are days when I have to look hard to find it. A baby bunny, nibbling on tiny leaves, on a spiny desert shrub. The small Anna’s hummingbird perched on its favorite bush among the chaparral in the far northeast corner of the park. The few days last month when the prickly pear cactus opened up a new magenta bloom each day. The pink orchid-like blossoms of the desert willows, which are now in full bloom.
Desert Willow Blossoms
The light is different each morning, depending on the time of the sunrise, the season of the year, and the weather. Sometimes the sky is brilliant blue, sometimes overcast with gray, and sometimes, wispy high clouds float through the sky. Every day is different in the sameness of a small park in the desert.
I once read about a writer who visited the same small plot of land every day, for decades, because he claimed it made him more aware. He was a famous author, whose name I had seen, but I am quite sure I had never read anything he wrote. I also have a vague notion that he was a nineteenth-century French writer, but I don’t know for sure. I do know that the idea struck me and has stayed with me.
Most of us are looking for new ideas, new experiences, and new places, when we don’t even pay attention to the small wonders of life in the ordinary world around us. It’s the small stuff that really shapes our lives and shapes our stories.
Richard Carlson wrote best-selling books based on the advice, “Don’t sweat the small stuff…and it’s all small stuff.” He was making a different point than I am.
My point is that the small stuff is where we live most of our lives. Our life stories are made up of ordinary events in familiar places. When we look—really look at the ordinary things of life—the small stuff is actually full of wonder.
How many people actually see the non-descript yellow and white desert plant filled with tiny lady bugs? How many stop long enough to listen to the humming tree, and look at the branches long enough to see that the tree is alive with bees that are only visible if you stop long enough to look for them? How many are watching in those fleeting seconds when the hummingbird’s dark head turns iridescent red in morning sunlight?
I see those little glimpses of wonder in the midst of the ordinary because of the camera. Most of my pictures of ordinary things are ordinary. Many are very good. I think that some are actually spectacular. I delete the ones that aren’t worth keeping. [And even my best shots lose quality when they are shrunk down to size to fit on these pages. The originals are much sharper than the ones you see on this page.]
And yes, I love to take my camera on picture-taking excursions to new places. There are days when I would love to see something new, something more dramatic than desert plants in a desert landscape. But even on the grayest days, I always see something wonderful—full of wonder—if I look for it.
For most of us, our life stories are remembered by the high points and the low points. Our photo albums are full of pictures of the big moments. The birthdays, the weddings, the anniversaries, the holidays, the vacation trips. We don’t usually keep photo albums of the low points and most of us don’t take pictures of the ordinary moments. And yet the ordinary is where we spend most of our time, and these are the moments that truly determine who we are.
As a way to be present in the world, taking pictures with a small digital camera is a way to be present and to be observant of the ordinary things of daily life. In those moments of focusing intentionally on the familiar landscape of daily life, even the ordinary becomes extraordinary.
Dr. Kalinda Rose Stevenson
“The Story ReTeller”
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“Impolite Topics: Religion, Politics, and the Bible…For Seekers”
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Kalinda Rose Stevenson
“The Story ReTeller”
