Telling stories

 

I like stories.
Stories about ordinary people in ordinary situations doing ordinary things.

What I think about my not so ordinary trip, is the ordinary.

Traveling is often something extraordinary. To experience as much as possible, to escape from everyday life. To live a life of celebration.

When you go away for ten months , as I will, then you are gone for so long that in some places along the road, everyday life will appear. That is exactly what I’m looking for. To find the ordinary life in a constant stream of new places.

We have far too little everyday life in our everyday lives.

Certainly there are stories to tell about all these unique experiences we have in life. Parties, birthdays, weddings, travel. But the best stories are those stories about people’s everyday lives. Those days that most people forget to talk about.

I have an idea to tell these stories during my trip. The people I meet, the everyday life they live. Do not know if this will happen, but that’s what I’m thinking.

To do so, I am preparing myself regarding three things. I find stuff for my camera, teach me every little technical detail about this complex and elusive craft. I read photo blogs for inspiration.
I also read lots of books and blogs at the moment. My desire to read has been gone for years, but now, just before when I’m leaving, I have found so many books I want to read that I get stressed out over keeping up with them. Pretty stupid, I know, but that’s how it is.
Then I write a lot too. Experimenting with words and writing like this.

Everything to do better in telling the stories about everyday life.

 

Living your dream

 

He gets up on stage. Takes hold of the microphone. The music starts playing. Facing two hundred people, he begins to sing.

The sound hurts, when it hits our ears. The audience doesn’t no where to run, there is no escape. It’s like getting stuck in front of the stage at a karaoke bar at two o’clock in the morning, where only the ambition to finally be a rock star for a few minutes surpasses the alcohol level in the blood.

I know what everyone thinks, because I think the same thing. Some think it out loud, others cover it with the politically correct. But everyone wonders why. But why not?

On stage in front of us is a man that for a short time lives his dream. We despise it, because it reminds us of the dream we ourselves have beaten down and locked into the darkest room in our hearts. The child within us who never have been ashamed has become the adult man who throws the first stone at those who have the unbelievable courage to stand there in front of everybody and rock as if they owned the place.

It sounds downright horrible, but the fact that he stands there, is something we must give him credit for. Because I wish that it would have been me.