Ten years ago, sometime in the spring, I had a brief conversation with someone I had admired from afar for a while. Talented, already so successful, a real ethereal beauty with the ability to strike up a meaningful conversation with everyone. During our brief conversation my photographic work was complemented. And those words meant more to me than even I could fathom at the time. Enough for them to still rattle around inside my head to this day, although I must admit that I had forgotten about them.
I suppose they were metaphorically hidden under a pile of papers and a few centimetres of dust. But they were still there. And that proves they're important. A few days ago I learnt that this person has passed away. So young. So talented. So successful. So vibrant. I no longer live in the same part of the country, nor am I in touch with anyone from that time, but somehow I stumbled across the sad news and for a few seconds I felt myself unable to breathe. The papers and dust were caught by a gust of wind, those lost breaths, and those words that I had mislaid were uncovered. Telling me, the persistent procrastinator, the expert putter-offer, the determined ditherer, that the time is now. The time is always now. Because time for each of us is not endless. Because we never know how far down our path we already stand. Because we owe it to ourselves to give ourselves our best chance.
In November I'll be doing something I never thought I would do, but make no mistake, the future doesn't start there. It starts now. It always starts right now.
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