While I’m currently traipsing about soggy Scotland with my mom and
sister—and having a blast, as I’m sure you expect—it is quite cold,
comparable to late January in Tennessee, and I’m pretending that I’m
back in Panama where the heat and humidity were so stifling, I didn’t stop sweating for 36 hours.
The thing about a place like the rainforest is that the obvious things—such as the colorful toucan
perched on the tip-top of a 100-foot-tall tree or an impish monkey
swinging from branch to branch—are clearly amazing, but in truth every
last facet of the place is equally as mesmerizing.
Sometimes we neglect to recognize the smallest things in life, and that’s why I like photography.
Taking in a scene through a viewfinder makes you, quite literally, focus on details you might otherwise never notice.
Like this teeny-tiny frog, for example—barely visible to the human eye.
Or the veins of a leaf during a rainstorm, straining to provide structure and stability.
In my constant rush to see everything, do everything, be all things to
all people, I’m more guilty than most of stopping to smell the roses.
But
out in the middle of the rainforest, with just a friend, a guide and a
camera for company over the course of the day, these important lessons
hit you over the head like a ton of bricks.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m
retreating back to beneath the covers where Mom and Kari currently
reside with a bottle of Pinot Grigio to warm my toes and make sure they
give me my share. Because oftentimes, enjoying the small stuff simply
means being present.
