sonora2sonoma

ARE YOU AVAILABLE next Saturday?

“THAT DEPENDS on whose interests it will serve.”

I had been struggling to coordinate a follow-up meeting between a handful of people who had participated in a large backyard event involving musicians, attendees and various supporting staff. This proposed follow-up gathering was the wish of the woman hosting the event. She was disappointed with the photos I had taken for her that day, and hoped to re-group everyone a week later for the purpose of staging a short follow-up photo shoot designed specifically to produce the images she had hoped to find among the photographs I had taken earlier that day. The job of making this all happen—getting everyone back together, which for some would entail more than an hours’ travel—she assigned to me.

Hampered by the fact she had given me no clear indication of what imagery, exactly, she had been looking for, and without any pronouncement from her at the party following the original event empowering me to act on her behalf in seeking to enlist the support of the mostly creative types on her list of requested participants, I found myself, during the party, running from person to person trying to pin down commitments. This proved exceedingly difficult since she had given no indication of a willingness to provide compensation for those she sought to enlist in her project.

During the party, I learned from the husband of the woman hosting the event, quite by accident, what had disappointment her and what it was she had wished to have seen in my photos. She had envisioned, he explained, seeing a series of action shots of people riding dirt-bikes frozen mid-way in flight while exercising straight-at-the-camera maneuvers, making jumps just a mere dizzying few feet away. No matter that the party had been conceived as a backyard concert—a musical event. No matter that there were absolutely no dirt-bikes, nor riders at the event nor had there been any arrangements made for staging such a stunt had any been present. And, of course, the photographer, yours truly, had not heard a word going in concerning the hostess’s expectations.

But such is the nature of dreams, with their mix-master ability to comingle disparate elements into a byzantine potpourri patchwork, with often preposterous associations, whose combined product can be at times gobsmackingly vaster than the sum of their parts. This dream even had echoes of a Robert Altman film, starring not only Joe Craven (who actually had a role to play, and a key one at that), but also featured a cameo with Laurie Lewis (who appeared more as a prop than an actual participant). My father, who moved on to broader horizons thirty years ago, was also involved, although his exact role was unclear to me, other than that he proved to be one of those whose refusal to be pinned down, like many others at the party, was reminiscent of the futility of attempting to herd cats.

My frustrations multiplied as I tried and failed and tried again to capture the attention of a succession of prospective participants, most of whom seemed preoccupied with more important matters like perusing the temptations laid out on the dessert table, being otherwise engaged, or wishing they could be, in conversation with other partygoers, or simply preferring not to be bothered.

I finally succeeded in gaining Joe Craven’s attention and I made my pitch to him. “Are you available next Saturday,” I asked. His answer, “that depends on whose interests are being served,” was, for me, revelatory.

Boundaries! A topic of considerable familiarity to me owing to my background in psychology. I had thought my boundaries were pretty well-ordered up until that moment, but, then, it’s always easier to see the folly in the behavior of others than it is to view with similar clarity one’s own foibles.  

In an instant, Joe’s response made me realize that my dream-dwelling hostess’s wish for a photo shoot do-over was not my problem to solve. If she desired it so much, the legwork necessary to make it happen was hers to do, not mine, and also, she should be prepared when she does so to offer remuneration to the participants for their time too, just as she should in our daytime reality!

*****

This dream, and the seemingly countless others I’ve been having since trump’s behavior has grown increasingly sideways, all share one common theme—in each one, there exists some seemingly insurmountable problem that I have been assigned the impossible task of resolving. In each one, I try and try to succeed. In each one, the resolution escapes me. In each one, there is this inescapable sense of the overwhelmingness of the task, of the sheer futility of trying to rise to the occasion. In each one, I push on anyway, unfailingly, often to the point of exhaustion. 

Michelle has been telling me, when she shares with me some difficulty she is experiencing, I respond too often by offering her advice. She doesn’t want advice, she tells me; she just wants to be heard.

But it’s almost second-nature for me to attempt to fix things. I do so without even knowing I’m doing it. Almost by default. Maybe it’s a guy thing, I don’t know.

What I do know is this: When that sense of being the eternal “fixer” is writ large, like it has been in my nightly dreams of late, it’s time to make some changes to my approach!

In my campaign to “fix” things, I now realize what is most in need of fixing is my need to fix things.  Toward that end, Joe has unknowingly given me the tool that’s been missing in my toolbox—a means of assessing more accurately what’s mine to fix and what isn’t—an applied and personalized version of the Serenity Prayer straight out of my subconscious in the guise of a person I admire and respect. I can go for that!

My hat’s off to you, Joe! Enduring thanks, blessings and good wishes!

Tim Konrad

2020.10.09