Old, Used, Discarded.

I remember a time not so long ago when a quiet, thoughtful, and considerate response was not only accepted but desired. When I look back on this time, I always feel mildly nostalgic — it wasn't because I thought it was better or produced superior results — it just felt like all voices could be heard and, therefore, contribute to the greater good of the desired outcome.

As always, time to move on at a seemingly relentless speed, at a breakneck pace where there seemed to be no longer time to consider, to explore an issue, a concept from all sides. It seemed like considered decision-making was falling out of trend, and the new kid on the block had to know everything all the time. Gone were the days where considered thought would lead to a balanced conclusion that was not just the first, nor the loudest, but in fact, the best. 

Yet, as we developed, moving ever faster from one trend to the next, from one discovery to the unknown, always striving for more, we seemed to have forgotten the beautiful ability to pause and explore our thoughts in search of what will serve us best, in essence trading it in for the loudest voice and the brightest light. An endless search for what was next commenced. For me, it feels like a search that will never be fulfilled. How can there ever be enough for the relentless desire for more?

Products, the everyday items, were the first victims of this blind race to a thoughtless future. Everything needed to be upgraded, and everything had to be up-levelled. We were led to believe that it could all be better, that it would all improve our lives, and that we would fall behind unless we had it. And this is the point that worries me the most.

Suddenly, we had shifted our thinking from a genuine desire to create new and improved to a calculated position of selling the new through the exploitation of fear. The thoughtful and considerate fell away as the voices became louder and the objects became brighter. People were starting to view each other as products, in a way we always had been; but now there seemed to be a line drawn in the sand. 

I still remember the uneasy feeling that would surface in the quiet times. Keep up or be left behind, where you will be added to the scrap heap of life. I kept up, thinking I was doing what was best, what the market wanted. Yet, I was also very aware of a seemingly ever-growing pile of humanity that in many ways seemed to have been forgotten, discarded just like an old tool still capable of doing its task perfectly, yet no longer seemingly on-trend. 

These people and these products quickly became the used, the unwanted, the undesired. I could act innocent, but I wasn't. I was fully aware of what was happening, and I have to admit I used this perceptual shift to my benefit, knowing only too well that the day of reckoning may lay just over the horizon.  

The day came quicker than expected. My world went quiet, moving on in a relentless search for the next best and brightest. Overnight, it felt as if I had unwillingly joined that pile of humanity that was pushed aside to make way for the latest and greatest. It was confronting and uncomfortable, but it is what it is. I had to deal with it, or it would deal with me. 

The ground had shifted, and unlike the last time it happened, I was now standing on the wrong side of the gulf that separated the wanted from the undesired. Perhaps it was inevitable, but I felt my skills had not been depleted. My will and work ethic were still strong. But the fact remained that the things I had always relied upon were nowhere to be found. The shining light that had guided my way was now seemingly out of reach, like a lover who had found reward in the arms of another.

The truth is that I was angry and resentful; I didn't want to understand or accept the simple fact that time's relentless march had left me abandoned in its wake with little to hold onto.

After the blazing anger subsided, I faced the reality of a life I was not expecting. I had little choice; it was time to think, consider, adjust, re-set, get inspired, and search for new challenges that met my development stage. 

The simple fact was that the market had changed, and I had evolved. It was not personal; we just seemed to outgrow each other. It was hard to admit that I was no longer desired, but I knew that did not mean that I was no longer desirable. I just had to find a new way of expressing my vision, which was no longer seen as an asset to some.

My world became smaller and far less exciting. The truth was that I spent a lot of time and energy fighting for relevance that I thought I needed, only to end up realising it was no longer required — a cycle I'm sure many can relate to. I missed the noise that others were now making, craved the excitement and attention that was no longer there and knew deep down that I had to rediscover the pleasures of a quiet life, where I alone could discover significant meaning and satisfaction in the seemingly mundane.

I have experienced many quiet moments in this new search for Me 2.0. With daily regularity I found myself alone with just my mind for company, together left alone to create anew, or fall victim to a selfish form of personal pity. I experienced a moment just like this the other day as my mildly uncontrolled thoughts rattled around the cavernous space of my mind. 

It didn't make sense to me; it never will. The thoughts and feelings I was experiencing were, at best, uncomfortable, in truth, confronting. So I did what I always do when faced with an unpleasant situation: I pulled out my cameras and began shooting. It is a simple act of active meditation that allows me to calm my mind and take the time to focus on a single task.

Heading to the shed searching for a subject, I found my hand reaching for my old trusted toolbox. What lay inside could be best described as a small collection of cheap tools made for a single task. I picked up a rusted pair of pliers; they looked terrible but still functioned perfectly. And so a small project began. I would shoot everything that looked well past its prime; like it had no value, like it should be discarded for a new shinier model that guaranteed to do precisely the same job but make me feel better. 

For the rest of the day, I searched the house for items I used daily but appeared to be well past their best. It turns out that my world is full of these much-loved objects that contribute to my daily happiness. 

My old pen still writes the stories and thoughts I love. My tatty tape measure still manages to measure; the pliers that look rusted to the core still grip and twist the nut. My old knife and saw still cuts. The lock is secure, and the old key still opens the door. My memory card still records data. Hang on, no, it doesn't. It's broken, but I could not bear to throw it away as we have created so many memories together; for me, it still has value.

To my shame, all these objects lay alone in a dark toolbox in a corner of the rarely visited shed. I guess I had created my own collection of what was no longer needed, my very own scrap heap piled high with what was no longer fashionable. But the strange thing is that whenever I need these items that are all built for a single purpose, they never let me down. An overlooked blessing that I have allowed to sit in a dark corner of my existence.

As I grow and develop my skills, I see myself as similar to all these beloved items that have been long forgotten. Sitting in the shadow of all the bright things, hoping that one day, a sliver of light may grace my existence.

There is no moral to this little observation; it is just that, an observation. A moment where I chose to slow down and see what was lying directly in front of me. To explore its value and appreciate its many benefits. Like so many others in this loud world; the objects, products, and people that I hold dear have no voice, or at least not a voice that is loud enough to be heard without the consideration of others. 

Thank you to the softly spoken, the thoughtful, the reliable. Thank you to the thinkers, those who take the time to consider a different view of the world and the opportunities it holds. And thank you to those who ask the questions and take the time to hear the answers.

Thank you.