I have always liked photographs of people walking away, especially when there is mystery emanating from the photo, such as this one. When a photo is less literal or predictable, one instinctively starts to ask questions and starts to build a story. I wonder, "Are they leaving a place or heading into a place?" Or, "Are they related to each other, close friends? They seem to be wearing similar coats and shoes." As I stare at the photograph to detect clues, I think about "place" - a question that taunts me. The place to or the place from? Certainly, they are close friends striding confidently to a rendezvous at a chic restaurant, having basked in the sights and sounds of a magnificent performance at the Lyric Opera. Or are they? We'll never know, just as it should be so that new stories can be imagined and told.
Words By CARRIE LANNON, Founding Principal at Lannon Consulting
The older I get, the farther away my closest friends seem to be. This is not to discount my work friends, of course. We are close in a different way. They see me just about every day, in just about every type of mood—good, bad, ugly, frustrated, excited, exhausted. And there is a camaraderie we share having found each other as adults who chose our current workplace in this place and time. But these are not my friends who I grew up with. Who were essential in shaping me into the person I am today. Who know the smell of my mom’s kitchen on a Saturday morning. Who drove through Ohio in the middle of the night blasting Dave Matthews to stay awake. Who never stopped listening when it felt like my parents would only ever care about what they wanted and how small that made me feel. Who danced on couches, singing at the top of our lungs, it never even occurring to us that we would never be that young again. But time passed and we all grew up. We got married. We had kids. We bought houses. And we settled down in places that felt like they could be forever. And they’re not just a dining hall walk away from each other. Or a, “Can you swing by and pick me up on your way?” There’s cars and trains and planes involved now. Balancing work and spouses and sick kids and aging parents and the ever-elusive “alone time.” Returning to friends—returning to yourself—takes work now. And after inhabiting a life where it seemed like there was so much living stretched out before us, now only one thing is clear: there’s never enough time.
Words by EMILY PETERS, Photographer/Ossining, NY
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