St. Terrible & Psych Mountain Revival

Oh, sweet neglect!

I know. Six weeks since my last post. Blame Instagram. No, seriously, blame Instagram.

  1. Posting one photo at a time creates a pressure to nail it every time, which also pushes you to up your game. (And you’re incentivized with little dopamine packets, called Likes, which creates a game of direct-but-confusing feedback.)
  2. As I’ve recently gotten pickier, this has given me a place to post just one image from a shoot, if I thought it was the best (or the only great one). A lot of the time, I just haven’t had a collection of 10+ images to share after an event.

To get noticed there, I can tell a 10-word story and drop a plate of hashtags on it. Here, to appease the Google, I have to write up a story of at least 300 words. That takes time, heart, and brain activity. All three of which have been in high demand elsewhere. Today I’m recommitting. Let me introduce you to some new friends.

St. Terrible & Psych Mountain Revival

A while back I hosted some couchsurfers: St. Terrible & Psych Mountain Revival. The moment they arrived, I knew we’d get along. I think it’s in the eyes. Sometimes you just look at someone as they look at you, and you both read tiny cues somewhere deep in the eyes, and you know this person is safe. I didn’t realize how safe until we spent three days talking, eating, driving into the mountains (beware: Spence Springs cools down A LOT as the snowpack melts), and picking up still more couchsurfers.

As we talked (and talked) it became really clear that we’re all artists of a similar temperament. We see our fears as teachers. We understand creating is an act of necessity, and adventure is essential to a clear heart.

They got here just a few weeks after I cleared my winter depression. It’s hard to feel that was coincidence.

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