What is it about transition that always seems to bring me back here? Whenever my life has reached cruising altitude for any particular slice of the year, it becomes incredibly easy to pass by both pen and keyboard without bothering to reflect on anything except the daily busy-ness that fills my thoughts.

But there’s something about times like these—times between times—when my heart is creeping back to school but my belongings and responsibilities still lie largely at home—when I feel, quite literally, neither here nor there. At these times I feel the need to steady myself—to get a grip on something other than the land ripping in two beneath me—and so I grasp at words and pictures in an attempt to see both where I’ve been and where I’m going.

Of course, times like these also force me to examine the staggeringly-many (it seems like millions of) posts titled-but-not-written, canvases collected-but-not-painted-on, emails received-but-not-answered—all of them planned-but-not-realized episodes in this rapidly-ending season. For someone to whom completeness appeals so deeply, I have opened an awful lot of books I haven’t closed.

I am dwelling on transition and my life’s so-far accomplishments (or lack thereof) in part because I just celebrated my twentieth birthday. It was truly a lovely day—an opportunity for me to be reminded, once again, of how blessed I am to have the family, friends, and community that I do. I am very glad that I turned twenty.

But twenty is such a singular age. Teetering on the brink of adulthood, it is a number brimming with both promise and regret. Promise because, at twenty, my soul still insists on looking ahead, anticipating the excitement and fulfillment which it believes will no doubt characterize the rest of my life; regret because, at twenty, I have already experienced enough to know better.

It’s a humbling thought, the realization that this world is going to let me down, and it’s one I hope I can hang on to as I navigate this particular time of transition. Not so I might throw my hands up and say life is not worth living, but so I might sit calmly through the turbulence I will undoubtedly encounter, and remember that what is truly important cannot be shaken by those small bumps and jostles.

With all that said, here’s to the new school year: may it be meaningful and character-building for us all.

Songs that are currently haunting me (please ignore the associated videos):

• Richard Thompson - Beeswing
• The Flaming Lips - Do You Realize?
• Sun Kil Moon - Carry Me Ohio

So, for now, in lieu of explaining a great deal about this past year, let me share with you something I made this afternoon on a break from wedding-photo editing:

Behold: 100 photos taken on my computer during the ‘07-’08 school year. It’s amazing how much is wrapped up in each one of these silly little pictures; each one brings its own context rushing back to me. Of course, that doesn’t help you very much, but… still, it might help you get a glimpse into the up-and-down roller-coaster that was my sophomore year.

P.S. I passed all of my two year exams, by the way. And finished all of my coursework. Meaning: I am officially a junior. Unbelievable. =-o

GROUP B: Bitter, self-deluded ne’er-do-wells who make bad decisions that hurt those around them. Unsafe.

Why must the never-tiring sorter that sits hunched up in my brain find a way to cram every single person into one of these two boxes? With the exception of a few fortunate individuals who have not interacted with me enough to be assigned to either category, I pass this judgment so subconsciously and instantaneously that almost no one I know is immune from its verdict.

Why am I always taken aback when someone from Group B extends me kindness? Why am I so quick to let them switch places with someone from group A who has grieved me? Surely, even the corroded, gnarled-up, ugliest part of my sub-conscious must realize that human beings are more complex than any on/off switch can account for.

I should not be surprised at the members of Group B who demonstrate Group A tendencies—because, you see, Group B does not exist. And neither does Group A. We are each of us a special blend of the two—a treacherous cocktail so equally capable of love and hate that any attempt to see which rules in our hearts from our earth-bound vantage point seems futile at best. It’s like trying to judge someone’s driving by looking at a snapshot of their car.

I am honestly ashamed that this truth has not yet sunk in—especially when all the evidence I could ever need beats in my own chest. Have I not embodied the “Unsafe” so well and so often that any fellow sorters must have me pegged there? How can I look down on others for speaking what flows so naturally from my own lips?

I can’t, of course. But I do. Every day. Every encounter. Every opportunity for my sorter to sort. How I wish I could send that sorter packing—or at least, force myself to realize that just as I sort others, so I will be sorted.

Please, Lord, forgive me for sorting.

Here are a couple of my absolute favorites of his (I hope you don’t mind me posting these, Brian!):

I want a giant print of this next one hanging in my house someday:

Please, keep an eye on this Flickr stream for more Brian Julian originals. You won’t be sorry.

There have been a bevy of dashed plans and plenty of chaos rolling around in my life recently, and I have spent so much time thinking about photography as a business person that I have been forgetting to look at it as an artist. To remedy the latter situation and help with the former, I have decided to take a few minutes each day to take photos that are just for me. Whenever I come up with something that particularly tickles my fancy, I’ll share it here.

The amount of worry that I can put into looking, acting, and living a certain way is truly dizzying.

It’s like spending twenty-four hours a day trying to wind the details of your life up into neat little skeins and arrange them on color-coded shelves (and convincing yourself that if just one of those skeins were to come unraveled, life would simply not be worth living) only to discover they are still a tangled mess of yarn on the floor—and what’s more, that these threads have been distracting you from what really mattered all along.

Sometimes I think that all of my anxiety in life can be traced back to that intense desire to be other than I am. Better, in the world’s eyes. Perfect, in my own. I know it’s wrong. But I also know I am not alone in this.

So, please—forgive everyone for not having their skeins neatly wound up and sorted. And even more, have mercy on those of us who are still trying to pretend that we do.

For those interested, I have posted just a few more photos from this wedding on Flickr. Congratulations again, Luke and Bethany!