Sweating the Small Stuff

Narrowing it Down

While in Mongolia, I took over 3,000 photographs.  Yeah.  3,000.  It feels ridiculous to type that, but it's true.  I remember when I took my first trip to France, in the spring of 1989.  I was there for an entire academic quarter (10 weeks) and thought I had broken some kind of insane-photo record with 10 rolls of film!  TEN ROLLS!  Seriously, I thought I needed counselling, because that was SO MANY!  I mean, why not just be satisfied with two, maybe three rolls, tops?  But TEN?  My god, that was 240 pictures!  Hell, now, with digital cameras and all, I can shoot through 250 frames in a single afternoon in the mountains!  Going digital nearly 8 years ago (the conversion coincided with the birth of my daughter) gave me permission not to discriminate, not to limit myself because of the high cost of getting the film developed.  Now, why just take ONE shot of that interesting leaf, when I can take TEN and choose the best one?  It's every photographer's dirty little secret: for every good shot we get, there are hundreds left to languish on our hard drives.  C'est la vie.

Now, being preternaturally hard on myslef about virutally everything, I inevitably come to the conclusion that most of my pictures are no good.  They're not framed quite right, or they're a tad over or under exposed.  And since I'm not real good with digital editing software, if it does't come out of the camera looking good, then I don't usually bother.  But sometimes, sometimes, I get some images (the snooty word for pictures that I hear other photographers use) that I rather like.  I'm posting some of those images here.

By far, my favorite images fall into either one of two categories: nature or people.  For example:

Sometimes, I like to photograph objects:

Often, I like to get really, really close:

I've tried to think about why it is that I like taking pictures so much.  Part of it, I think, centers around the fact that I have a crappy memory.  I mean, really, really bad.  A former student came up to me the other day and said, "Dr. McClanahan!  Hey, how're you doing?"  To which I replied, "Um...great..."  She could tell I was struggling.  She told me not to worry, and reminded me of her name, which I then recognized as obvious.  But I think another part of it is that I just appreciate things that are beautiful.  Not that every photo I take is of something beautiful, but I try to find beauty in the initial ugliness:

Mostly, it's just enjoying being in the flow--enjoying documenting what I see and do.  If you want to see 1/10th of my photos, go here:  http://www.conceptualframeworkphotography.com 

Here are two photos that may be my favorites of the entire Mongolian trip.  On my last day in Tsetserleg, I was sitting on top of one of the surrounding hills, looking down at the city.  As I sat, enjoying the view, a teenage boy came riding up on his horse.  He was looking quite regal, wearing his traditional del, poised confidently atop his horse.  However, upon closer inspection, I noticed that he had a baseball cap on, and was talking on his cell phone.  "That figures," I thought.  The old and the new finding a way to coexist.  That about sums up Mongolia...

Transformative

I have always advocated for a year of mandated travel between one's senior year of high school and freshman year of college.  Even if college isn't in your immediate plans (our economy being what it is today), I still think that travel should be mandatory.  Especially for Americans.  And not travel to Canada, or Europe, or Australia.  Those don't count.  I mean the kind of travel that shakes you up a bit, gives you a stomach ache, makes you a tad uncomfortable.  The kind of travel that completely stretches your edge.  Peeing outside.  Going for at a minimum of 5 days without access to hot water.  Not knowing exactly what part of the animal you're eating.  Transformative travel.

I know that I have experienced transformative travel when I begin to question who I am, and what I really (really) stand for.  I know that I've experienced transformative travel when I find myself getting pissed off when things aren't going "my way."  I know I've experienced transformative travel when I start to use the phrase "these people," as in "God!  Why do these people eat this stuff?  Why don't these people understand what I'm trying to say?  Why do these people choose to live like this?"  Choose?  Well, maybe.  When I'm traveling in places that make me uncomfortable, the prima donna in me comes out--the entitled American who enjoys niceties such as "schedules" and "clean water."  How dare I behave so arrogantly?  

I always surprise myself when these thoughts pop into my head.  Stateside, I'm a pretty easy-going person (well, most of the time).  Live and let live, you know?  But when I travel, it's as if I bring with me all of the judgment and guilt and loathing that, as an American, I've learned to stuff deep down into my pockets. After all, one doesn't think to ask why in America.  This is not to say that I don't love being an American.  With the exception of the Bush years, I am incredibly proud to be an American, and of the fact that in America, opportunities abound at every turn (although recently, that's an arguable statement).  But sometimes, I gather up all of my opportunity and privilege and take it completely for granted.  Sometimes, it leaks out of my pockets and sounds a lot like entitlement ("What do you mean my car won't be ready until tomorrow?  Don't you know that I have places to be?").  

Look at this guy's face.  Look at that joy, that vitality, those lines that tell a million stories of a million triumphs and tragedies.  Does this guy look as if he lacks anything, just because he doesn't live in a "traditional" house, and doesn't drive a "traditional" car?  This, THIS is why I believe that travel should be mandatory for ALL Americans--travel to places where people grow what they eat, pack up and move what they have using a cart and a yak or two, and leave virtually no footprint on the land.  Is this guy thinking, "Gee, I wish I had a new big-screen TV"?  Maybe, but I doubt it.  

The people in Mongolia were among the warmest, most generous, most hospitable I have ever met.  When measured against our standards, they have very little.  But what they do have, they share gladly, and with an open heart.  You have to if you want to survive a typical Mongolian winter.  I mean, look at these faces:

Okay, granted.  The kids above were showing off thier new motorcycle (or rather, their dad's new motorcycle) but still.  The point is, transformative travel forces us to look deep inside ourselves, and ask "What do I really need to survive happily in this world?"  The answers are always simple--family, friends, basic food and shelter.  Me and so many of my friends have these things--in abundance--and yet we're filled with angst.  Is the lesson that we should sell all of our possessions and join a monastery?  Maybe.  Or maybe it's more like trying to be grateful for what we have, and recognize that it's all only temporary.  Maybe it's that not taking a shower more than once a week won't actually kill you.  Maybe it's realizing that food tastes better when it's made with genuine hospitality.  

For me, transformative travel is grounding.  It grounds me in who I am at my core.  Where I grew up, people were judged on what they had, how they looked, and who they knew.  But I know that those things aren't who I am at my core.  When I try to distill my essence into one question, it comes down to: How do I react?  How do I react when my stomach won't cooperate?  When schedules don't exist?  When something gets stolen (long story, but I didn't really need my iPad anyway).  I'm happy to report that more and more, I react with a, "Hmmm...okay.  That's interesting."  I need to give up the immediate labeling of situations as "good" or "bad."  They just are.  I need to get curious, and to lean into my discomfort.  All I can control is how I react.  And man, I'm here to tell you that THAT mindset is truly transformative.

So here's to a new personal and professional goal of trying to connect with as many different people from as many different cultures as I can.  I want to encourage my students to get out there and transform who they think they are--now--while they're young and their brains are still squishy.  Thank you, people of Mongolia, for teaching me a little more about you, and a lot more about me.