Memories from the Life

Some things seem to prompt reflections more easily than others and some things simply bring them on with a rush. Today, for some strange reason, I am inundated, for no apparent cause, with recollections from my life in this strange occupation of photojournalism. A few of these are bittersweet, but the majority are welcome reminders of the things and people that I've encountered along the twisted path that we call life. The bittersweet remains, perhaps, the most vivid, but the remainder are, nevertheless, as clear as the day they occurred, though perhaps textured by the passage of time and the desire to hold on to the essence of their impact. I think that we all have that in common. We want to remember, exactly, how things were, but tend, instead, to subtly filter the extraneous details and hold on to core of the experience. Still, memory is a marvelous and amazing thing. It is said that the mind will selectively filter out horrendous experiences in our lives and bury them deep within the subconscious, things such as severe and intense pain great emotional anguish or truly painful memories, while saving, in the forefront, the best of ourselves. There are, however, a few souls for whom this may not be the case, or at least not entirely so. Perhaps, as a group, photojournalists are such souls, but definitely there are those, myself included, for whom this is certainly so. There is very little, if any, of my life that I can not recall. Not always at will, I must add, but when the mind chooses to wander the pathways of my past, nothing much is left untouched. I can remember,with great clarity, events from my very early childhood, events that are verified by others and likewise, people and events from there onwards, throughout my life. Eerily, at times, I even recall words spoken and reactions resulting. I also have an uncanny ability to remember almost every photograph I have ever taken, Not, as a photographic memory would, but rather,upon seeing the image again,all the details about it return to me. Sometimes, to haunt me,as in "What was I thinking!? " and other times as refreshing little insights into why I chose to act as I did, or say what I said,or shoot what I shot. I hardly think that I am, in any way, unique in this ability, but I do believe that it is a part of being a photojournalist, or at the least a part of my being a photojournalist. To me, a chronicler of one's time, should remember it well,if they hope to present it for others. It also is an invaluable tool in one's search for the meaning(s) to their life choices and the results.