221/365 Now Go Create
In 2010 my Canon EOS 30D was stolen. I lived in Irvington at the time, in a neighborhood just feet away from drugs, guns, and alcohlic rantings.
I had taken the camera to work with me and afterwards, I placed it on the back seat of the car while I drove home. A friend of mine was going through a crisis, calling me for support throughout the day. I answered one call on the way home, a call that carried into the house where I dropped my purse and continued listening and talking.
The next day, I went out to the car. It was unlocked, which concerned me, but I was headed to work so I didn’t think more about it. Down the street I saw my wallet lying in the road. What?! I stopped to pick it up. Empty. Confused, I thought back to why it wouldn’t be in my purse, then remembered taking it out as I rummaged through the purse looking for my phone. Distracted by the phone call, I failed to put the wallet back.
Where’s your camera?
My stomach twisted and I turned to see if it was on the back seat. Gone!
Maybe I took it into the house and didn’t remember doing that? I turned the car around and went back to the house. Clammy fingers tightened on the house key as I opened the door. I scoured the house, frantic, searching for the camera bag. Not there. My camera was not in the house!
I slumped onto the couch and gave in to tears.
Over months and years I had saved to buy the camera and all the external gear. It was my camera. To start over again was financially too much for me.
To the outside world, I looked upbeat, but at home, I cried. My stolen camera came at a difficult time in my life, a time of significant loss. Relationships were dissolving. I had little in reserve for creativity. Photography kept me going, but with the camera gone, photography was fading, much like my spirit. I didn’t even pull out my point-and-shoot.
A few months later, I entered my office and found a package on my desk, and in that package was this:
Please read the note in the photo. To this day I still don’t know who gave me this generous gift, and that’s ok, because that means it could be anyone.
This gift renewed my spirit and I started coming back. Over the months, I’ve been able to replace many of the stolen accessories. There are still a few things I’m missing, but in time I’ll have them all back. I am forever grateful to this anonymous giver. I keep this story in me at all times.
And I love the directive:
Now go create.