… that was the title of an email I received a couple weeks ago. This is what it said, ‘… I had this dream the other night, I honestly can’t remember what about. There was a group of maybe 6 or 7 people in a room, most of whom I knew as friends and family. There was also this other woman there too. She was sort of behind and a little quieter than the others, but no less of a presence (maybe more so even). She was so familiar but I couldn’t quite place her. Then later it dawned on me, like clarity through a morning fog on a bridge somewhere… that’s seafield!!!… ‘
I recently began a journey back to myself. Wasn’t my idea, but I suppose it’s necessary when you wander away. So far, it feels like those sundays, when my brother and sisters and I would be driven around. With the windows up. And my dad smoking his pipe. And I would get car sick. Every time. But we did it. Because it was Sunday.
So, I’m here, wherever that is. And feeling a little car sick. And unlike those sunday drives, I am questioning almost everything about this journey. This morning, after a provocative conversation yesterday, I am questioning my photography, thank you. It’s role. It’s direction. It’s purpose. And that dream. What was that dream?