Thoughts From 35,000 Feet

Few people fly with the window shade open these days. Have you noticed that? Back in the day, when all there was to do while flying was read or sleep, people looked out the window. With the advent of laptops, tablets, smartphones, and back-of-the-seat entertainment, most window shades remain down. It’s a shame. I used to love to look out the window. It stirred my imagination. I wondered, where are we flying over? What is it like to live there? What do people do for work or fun? What would I do if I lived there? My mind was active, whereas when I watch something, it's mostly passive. I think the world could use more of the former. We are consumed with always being entertained. We crave distraction to avoid boredom, as if being alone with our thoughts is something of which to be fearful. The next time you’re on a plane in the window seat, take some time to simply stare out the window and let your mind wander.

I’ve done very little writing lately, and even less photography. I haven’t made a worthwhile photo since February. Creative types refer to these periods of apparent inactivity as incubation, a time necessary for formulating new ideas. While I agree with that premise, what I’ve experienced lately is more akin to laziness and lack of inspiration, with a dash of “what’s the point?” given the current political climate. Admittedly, some of this introduction and what follows is gin-fueled, but these days, I’ll take my inspiration where I can find it.

My wife and I spent last week in the lovely town of Kanab in southern Utah, a jumping-off point for several national parks and other spectacular points of interest. As a photographer, I’ve always had a love/hate relationship with national parks. I love them for their awe-inspiring beauty, yet hate them for their popularity. Nothing hinders my connecting with nature more than the presence of other humans. It’s the reason I need to photograph alone. (It’s not that I don’t like people. I’m quite fond of people on an individual basis. It’s humanity that I struggle with tolerating. I sense some, if not many of you, will understand the difference.) I viewed my visits as a compromise I was willing to make on occasion to witness and photograph these unique and remarkable places. I have many fond memories of those trips. They were wonderful experiences that have added to the tapestry of my life. But the days of visiting national parks for photography are long gone. I now leave my camera gear home, a decision that would have seemed sacrilege ten years ago. 

We visited Zion National Park on our first day in Kanab. It was a rainy Monday in early May. There was traffic and people everywhere. I could only imagine what it is like in the summer months. I last visited Zion for photography in the fall of 2011, exploring the park with my camera for several glorious days. I’m certain other people were enjoying the park as well, but I don’t recall them. They were present, but somehow I managed to avoid them, at least to the point of them becoming a distraction. That would not be possible today. Zion is a prime example of a national park that has become overrun with visitors. Blame social media or the pandemic, it’s a crisis that many national parks face. As I waited outside the visitors center, the throngs of people moving about reminded me of Times Square. Looking up at the majestic ramparts of Zion towering above me, I was consumed with a single, sad thought: I feel nothing. No awe, no reverence, only a feeling of disconnect and a strong desire to get the hell out of there. How is it even possible not to be moved by such magnificent scenery? Yes, I’ve visited Zion before, but one could never grow tired of the majestic beauty. It turns out, I can, when surrounded by humanity en masse.

The overcrowding of our natural wonders is an unfortunate yet ultimately blameless situation. Everyone has the right to enjoy the parks. Along with conservation and preservation, it is the idea on which the national park system was predicated. I will continue to visit them, usually with my wife by my side, but I won’t be making images. Instead, I will continue to train my lens on the mundane. The vast majority of the public have eyes for only the spectacular. I strive to showcase the beauty surrounding us daily, not only that which is found in discrete, far-flung exotic locales. 

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