Several weeks ago, I had a few moments to spare. Not enough to do anything substantial, so I sat in front of the New York Public Library for a good ten minutes. I had my camera out but I didn’t take any pictures. I held a book in my hand but I didn’t read.
I sat in a sort-of daze and stared.
At some point, I looked down at the glass of the blank camera screen, which sat in my lap, unused, and saw this reflection.
None of it made any sense. A camera lens smashed up against my canvas bag. An image regardless. A phone to act as camera. An unread book sitting next to an extraordinary building of books.
This is simply being, I thought. This is what it means (is meant) to be.