A Recent Reminder That Being Present and Mindful Leads to Good Things

Summer Evening at Provincetown Harbor

The photo at the top of this post almost didn’t happen, because I was forgetting lessons I thought I had learned–lessons that I try to help my coaching clients embrace.

Here’s the story.

I spend a lot of time making photos–out shooting, editing in Adobe Lightroom, and posting to social media (and soon I will have a website, too!). This summer’s weather has been cloudier and cooler than usual, which means I haven’t had as much time as I’d like to be out with my camera when the light here is at its most sublime.

To be clear, the light in Provincetown, MA, where I live–50 miles out in the Atlantic Ocean at the very tip of Cape Cod, surrounded by water–is almost always sublime. But I especially love the hour after sunrise and the hour before sunset. The yellows, oranges, reds, blues, and purples emerge in overlapping succession, creating a stunning backdrop for painters and photographers. And even when it’s gray, Provincetown is quirky enough to provide interesting people, buildings, and scenes for a good shoot.

On the day I almost didn’t take the photo above, I was excited to shoot specifically during the hour leading up to sunset. The weather had been bad for several days, but that day we were having one of those perfect summer days: sunny and warm, but not too hot or humid. The air was crisp and clear.

I planned to head out around 6:20 pm, giving myself plenty of time to get down to the harbor beach in town to shoot the boats, buildings, and people around there. I gathered up my equipment and got my bike, but as I emerged from the garage the sun suddenly dimmed. I looked to the northwest and sure enough there was a line of thick gray clouds moving in–the worst position for clouds for someone who wanted to shoot in the setting sun’s light.

The weather forecast had called for clear skies all day and into the night, but I knew I shouldn’t have trusted that. Over the last few years I’ve learned that slight shifts in the wind speed or direction and water or air temperature can lead to sudden and unexpected cloudiness, fog, and rain.

I felt frustrated as I sat on my bike at the end of our driveway, and for a minute I was about to head back inside and just do something else with my evening.

After some deep breaths, I knew I really wanted to take photos, so I checked my radar app to see if any rain was coming (there wasn’t), and decided to venture down to the harbor. I was going to use this as an opportunity to be present, flexible, and patient.

I got down to the West End Boat Launch and shot some of the moody clouds that were rolling through the sky. It was enjoyable, if not making for great photography. Some people were coming back in skiffs and dinghies, having moored their boats farther out in the harbor. I shot them from a distance, just observing their concentration in navigating to shore and also their happiness after a sunny day on the water. I was a little jealous that I spent the sunny part of the day inside working and now was out here with the clouds. I let that feeling come and go.

I looked over my shoulder toward the northwest, and saw a band of clear sky at the horizon. Higher up, the sun was a bright dot behind the gray clouds, and after four years of shooting here I was pretty sure that the setting sun and the opening in the clouds would align at some point, likely creating some fun, interesting light.

Which is exactly what happened. And as a bonus, part of the original cloud bank broke off, and moved over the water and ballooned high into the sky. Those clouds–my earlier nemesis–were soon lit up by the setting sun peeking through the clouds to the northwest. The harbor lit up with a rosy, golden glow.

In the end, I got a great shot. I could have missed that had I let my anger and frustration win. It was a great reminder of the importance of mindfulness–of being present with our feelings and feeling them, and acknowledging what is–and letting go of our expectations and need to control.

There was a beautiful photo waiting to get made–I just had to let it happen. I’m glad I did.

But most of all I’m happy that I had a chance to pause and respond, rather than react. I’ve invested a lot of time and effort in getting to this place, and it was nice to see a real-time return on those investments.