FIELD NOTE 04Capture it anyway.
Last week, I was driving through the Flint Hills when I was struck by a radiant orange sunset.
I wanted to capture it.
I pulled into a rest stop and took a picture from the car. I immediately wished the power lines weren’t running through it. A few minutes later, I stopped again at a scenic overlook, thinking I could get a better shot.
The picture was beautiful, but by then, that radiance had passed.
The first picture was imperfect. And it was the one that caught the light.
Today, I learned that a wise friend of mine died. She helped me tremendously when my children were little, and her wisdom stayed with me.
Her family shared a video she had recorded when she knew her time was limited. Having already lost her own mother, she understood what it was to wish for more. The recordings wouldn’t be perfect, she acknowledged. They were simply something her children could return to someday—to hear their mom’s voice, remember how she moved, or learn how she might have approached a particular situation.
Or not, she said. They might need something entirely different than what she did.
But just in case, she was going to keep recording.
And there she was.
Her voice. Her movement. Her wisdom. Her radiance.
Imperfectly and beautifully captured.
I keep thinking about that sunset.
Sometimes we wait for the power lines to disappear. For the conditions to be better. For ourselves to be more prepared. For what we make or say or leave behind to be worthy of keeping.
And sometimes, while we are waiting for the perfect picture, the light changes.
Capture it anyway.
The imperfection may be part of the evidence that you were there.