The Hub and I took a meander today through the hangars at Massey Air Museum, where a friend's birthday celebration was being held. I'm not a fan of planes - I don't know squat about them except that they're convenient for getting from one place to another in quick order - but I do see the importance of preserving aviation history, which is what Massey does. Their focus is on the rural airports of the early 20th century, before the massive LAX and MSP and BWIs of modern air travel became the norm.
It was damp and chilly out, a truly bleak day, but we braved it and took a walk through the unheated hangars and played in the DC-3/C-47 out in the yard and - as always - I found something to take a picture of. Then I found another. And another and another. Despite my disinterest in vintage planes, I found enough to keep me going. That's what photography does for me; it lets me get lost in the moment even when I'm someplace I haven't the slightest interest in, or when I've developed a bit of boredom in a place I've been to many times. Once I drop my preconceived notions, what's around me becomes interesting.
The same happens with writing. It's the willingness to find something interesting that creates the finding, much like making a space allows a writing idea to grow whereas sitting still and expecting it to hit me over the head never works.
Willingness opens the door for an active seeking, which finds new possibilities. Every time.