“Don’t touch the car!”
Back in early October (which seems ages ago on this road trip) I was on a week-long wildlife photo tour at Grand Teton National Park. In a break from wildlife viewing, we were parked by the side of the road snapping shots of the mountains. One of our leaders was taking a time-lapse photo of the clouds moving across the Tetons and I was intrigued. He showed me how to do it and then clicked my phone into his small tripod and we set it on the hood of his car. “You can leave it alone from here…just don’t touch or shake it while it’s shooting.” Easy enough…group members were all spread out taking photos, far from the car.
As we started walking away, someone came up and sat on the car back deck. “Don’t touch the car!” Someone else ran over to get a snack and leaned in to the back for the food box. “Don’t touch the car!” The other tour leader opened the driver door to get something. “Don’t touch the car!” And so it went. Each time we yelled “Don’t touch the car!” I laughed harder and harder. The time-lapse was forgotten and the fun of the moment…of seeing everyone improbably drawn to the car like a moths to a flame…was precious. For so many reasons, I still think of that event as the “magical time-lapse moment.”
There were many times that week when I laughed that prolonged and deep laugh that makes me feel good all over. That laugh that gets the endorphins flowing and boosts my overall sense of wellbeing and happiness. Moments like sitting in the sage grass in the late afternoon with the group, telling jokes and stories while waiting for the bull moose to get up from his nap so we could get our snaps. And waiting, and waiting, and waiting, sure that moose was laughing at us and taking extra time for his afternoon repose.
And the moment while waiting when my camera battery died and I realized I had forgotten to charge the extra two batteries the night before, and my phone was down to 3%. What are the chances of both of those things happening at the same time, far from the cars when I was sure that moose was going to wake at any moment? And what are the chances of having both of those things happen with all of these experienced photographers around me? I was embarrassed and wondered for a brief moment if I should just pretend to take photos when the moose woke up so that no one would know all my batteries were dead. I really did contemplate that ridiculous (but funny) path of action for a while. But then as we were sitting and waiting, I decided to come clean and said, “I have a confession to make.” That got everyone’s attention and it turned out they were all hoping for something juicier than dead batteries. So, that got the confessions going all around as we sat in the sage grass waiting for the recalcitrant moose to move which brought more laughter and at that point I felt fine about having 3% on my phone and a dead camera. I am amazed that our laughter didn’t wake that bull moose, or maybe he was wide awake enjoying the jokes, knowing the last joke was on us.
This road trip of mine has been magical. And it’s not over. But the one thing missing, I realized that week in Grand Teton, was laughter. It’s not that I am unhappy. Far from it. I am at peace, content with enjoying every day with a sense of wonder and gratefulness that still surprises me. Traveling alone, I can, and do laugh out loud at a situation or thought. But it’s not the prolonged laughter that comes with shared moments of good times, and pranks and silly situations, and fun stories with others.
On this trip, I have discovered new things about myself and have been excited about committing to things I want to do better (photography and making cocktails) and planning new places I want to explore (Asia, South America). But this trip has also brought clarity around what I treasure about my life and want to hold on to, to strengthen. Shared laughter is one of those things.
As I have been thinking about this, I realize that as my kids have grown and are mostly on their own, and now that I am on this creative break from work, the sources for daily laughter in my life could well be dissipating. Parents from my kids’ schools who have been long-time friends are moving or doing their own traveling as empty-nesters, former work colleagues from teaching and consulting are not part of my daily professional interactions, and my kids have their own growing social circles and lives to lead. These are all normal changes as we flow through the life cycles of our time on this earth.
So…it seems I need to be more intentional about what I treasure and make sure that when I get back from this road trip, that I do the things I have always done–but perhaps in some new ways–to share the laughter, to end the day on a high note, to start the weekend off right. I have a clear vision of cooking for long-time friends and inviting new acquaintances; trying my hand at cocktails and hoping people will be guinea pigs for my efforts, and simply making sure I balance my more solitary interests with the social parts of life I need to feed my soul, to make me laugh and smile.
And what of laughter since that Grand Teton week? The best laughs have come during sunrise moments when I am standing out in the dark with my tripod and camera set and ready to go and I get into a conversation with another sunrise junkie next to me. There is much to laugh about…the seemingly crazy compulsion that gets us out of bed two hours before sunrise, the willingness to stand in the wind and cold to see dawn’s fleeting but glorious magic show, and even the stories of previous disasters and missed shots. And then of course there is the shared laughter when, after the light has stopped that magic glow and we are in bright daylight, we are packing up our gear and the hordes of sightseers arrive for sunrise. I never tell them they missed the glow…it seems cruel and against the spirit of the moment. And I always want to hold on to that spirit–when I walk away from that sunrise grateful for the wondrous landscape around me and for people in my life…the ones I know well and the ones I meet fleetingly but joyfully.
Susan Silberberg, mile 201,209
