Appropriate Use

When I got on the bus from the airport to Granada I saw a woman across the aisle texting or looking up things on her phone.  I wanted to say to her, "Look up!  It's Spain!! You are missing it!" She looked like a tourist, but maybe she'd seen the scene a 1000 times.

An hour or so later after checking in where I was staying, I began to wander up and down hills and through winding narrow streets.  I ended up at a place with a famous viewpoint of the city (Mirador de San Cristóbal top photo).  There was a man there playing guitar.  Tourists would arrive in waves, often off a bus, spend a few moments taking photos and then move on.

I did too, but first I sat and took in the beauty.  I sat and closed my eyes and did a 10 minute meditation.  I soaked in the surroundings, and then, eventually, I took a photo.

At my next stop, a town on the Mediterranean two days later.  I did not follow this philosophy.  I arrived and my room was super cute with big window doors and lots of light.  I immediately snapped a shot in excitement.  Then I hurried out to see the sea and immediately began taking photos.  I think I assumed that the beach was relatively empty and I should hurry and take pictures now.  So before connecting with the place, before arriving there myself, I sat my camera on a bench, set the self timer and the intense wind knocked it onto the ground.

The lens automatically closed and I quickly turned it back on to see if it was broken.  It opened but then was stuck, the lens was stuck open.

I knew why.  I had let my excitement to capture the moment, take me out of the moment. 

I immediately understood.

The next day I walked through town and stopped at places that repaired watches, or electronics and showed them my camera.  I got to speak Spanish in a less tourist fashion.  I was told I had to mail my camera in, that that happens, or another shop to try.  I tried to keep it from becoming the focus of my energy.  And for the most part I let go.  (I did not have a phone to take photos instead.)

Each city thereafter I'd take the camera out at least once and try.  Turn it on- read the message about lens failure automatic shutdown - listen to the motor attempt to close it.  I recharged the batteries, I tried nudging the lens, or making sure there wasn't any sand in the crevices.  I let go again.

And for the most part I was grateful.  Grateful for the words from an Indigo Girls song,
"Don't write this down.
Remember this in your head. 
Don't take a picture. 
Remember this in your heart."

And I did.  I sat.  Sometimes I drew.  Sometimes I closed my eyes and listened.  I said, "Thank you." I breathed.

The last night in Spain I walked by an actual camera shop in Sevilla.  The first one I'd seen.  It didn't say they did repairs but I went back to my room to get my camera to ask.  He told me similar to the others, mail it in and said something about how it had to be within 5 days.  Then he gave me the place of another place to try (which I was confused by as he said to mail it in), but I asked him to show me where on the map.  And for the next hour or more I went on another winding and confusing treasure hunt to find it.  I never did, but enjoyed the journey and the exploration.

Today I decided to call Canon customer service to see if I sent it in, approximately how much a repair would cost.  I got on the phone with the woman, and my stuck lens, pressed the on button to tell her what the message it gave me was
and the lens closed

the lens closed.

I have not tried to open it again. At the moment it doesn't really matter to me.  I get it.  I got the message.

Just BE there in Spain sweetheart.  You have 25 photos already.  That is enough.

That is enough.

The same thing might have happened to you, and you might have received an entirely different message.  I'm not saying this message is the right one.

But I am saying this message was the right one for me.