#reverb10 - December 5

Let go. What (or whom) did you let go of this year? Why?

Let's play The Obvious Game. I went through a bad layoff last year. It felt like the worst breakup I'd ever had. I had been with this newspaper for two years, during which I worked 12, 14, 16-hour days, nights and weekends, for practically nothing. I threw myself into my work with abandon. It was my job, and because I loved it with a passion, it was my life.

I was the local girl, the face and spirit of my hometown paper, which I had returned to serve after college. I made friends with the adults I'd known in my childhood and I adored the small children who begged me constantly to take their picture.

At some point it all came off the rails for the newsgroup that employed me. To put it diplomatically, the staff shrank slowly over the course of about 18 months, strategic promotions were made and due to reigning management opinion suddenly 9 of 11 photographers between eight newspapers found themselves out of a job. Many reporters and office staff, too. The photographers were informed that they were valued less, as it is "easier to teach a reporter to take pictures than a photographer to write."

I was laid off on April Fool's Day, 2009. Not funny, IMO. I had been spared from the first several rounds of layoffs and told I had new, important responsibilities. Cue rug yank...now. As a loyal co-worker angrily asked a GM in a meeting shortly thereafter, "We've cut the fat. And the muscle, and the bone. What's left?"

To make matters worse, these dramatic staff cuts were not publicized or explained. Sources kept e-mailing and calling me, and one by one I had to fight back emotion and tactfully explain what had happened. The paper continued running my photographs without crediting me. The wound was ripped open, again and again.

Because of this it was difficult to move past it. There were maybe three jobs nationwide in the journalism industry at the time; I had no choice but to start a business in a rough economy. To add insult to injury, out of our damaged friendship my editor said and did some very unprofessional, and cruel, things to hurt me further. I can still get worked up about it if I think too hard. But looking back the brass did me a favor. And this year I've started to let it go. Drop by drop, the water slowly slides off my back and I start to smile.

Life is better now. When I work a long day, which I still do with joy, I can sleep in and if I'm two minutes late to my desk there's no one to yell at me. I'm very careful not to micromanage my dog. I go on vacation! I set my schedule and answer to no one but myself, and my wonderful clients. For so, so many of them I would lasso the moon or move mountains.

Will those managers, that newsgroup, ever be the same in my mind? Probably not. Some scars don't ever leave us. But I'm starting to forget how much it hurt. I'm burying it, letting go, and my new-and-improved career is the closure I needed.

Last year I was dealt a blow from which I thought I'd never recover. I thought my life, my self had been taken without a second thought. I know that the company line is often the bottom line. I know now that I'm lucky, because that particular line may just have saved me. I was given the opportunity to let go of it.

As the memory fades I keep climbing.

#reverb10 - December 4

How did you cultivate a sense of wonder in your life this year?

Wonder. It's one of those funny things that some people always seem to have and others wouldn't recognize if it gave them a concussion. If you have an open heart and an open mind you probably have a sense of wonder, but no matter your resilience sometimes life has a funny way of running you around so much you begin to tire. Eventually, despite your best efforts, you find yourself lost.

This is how I felt last year and a great deal of this year as well. One too many blows and your shell begins to thicken. Local anesthesia for that four-chambered pump inside your chest. You feel less and although that protects you from all the hurt, it also makes it tougher for love, compassion and of course, wonder to get through.

I've always been one of those people most probably view as naive. We ooh and ahh over small unexpected pleasures, grin open-mouthed at the sky during fireworks displays, relish tiny victories with a happy dance and savor all the small and large wonders of the world much like a child does. But the truth is, we don't miss a beat because we see the world clearly and don't discount anything. With horror, I realized earlier this year that after so much time trying not to feel the ache of last year's injuries, I had lost a lot of my wonder and perspective. I no longer noticed, or cared, for the small details that once had given me a humble kind of bliss that was impossible to ignore.

That piece of my brain, the piece where I cultivated fun, love, wonder, was covered up by the armor I had put on in April last year. After an extended period of gray skies and knew I had to shock myself out of it. This summer I rode a jet ski for the first time, at 60 MPH across a choppy lake in Michigan. I watched fireflies come to life in the twilight. I backpacked so hard I thought I was going to be sick, slept under the stars to watch the sun rise over Lake Aloha, and enjoyed fresh trout with apple pancakes and bacon overlooking the wind-swept mountainsides of Desolation.

I started a business and worked my way to success, shooting in sun, twilight, rain, snow. I had a long list of new travels that helped defibrillate my spirit. I joined the cast of Star Follies, a fundraiser for Incline's schools, and danced my way through the pain. So many selfless, fun-loving people in one place, plus the initial shock of performing on-stage for the first time since...first grade? helped pull me out of my funk and heal my heart. Once that barrier toppled, the mind was quick to follow.

Yep, wonder is a funny thing. I was an incredibly shy kid. I had to save myself this year by living outside my narrow comfort zone, surprising and scaring myself, learning that if I just leaped I'd have experiences I thought were always meant for others who were braver than I. It wasn't until I was stronger than before and complete once again that wonder returned to my life. And believe me, this time I super-glued it into place. It's here to stay. (Kole sere...)