“Hindsight is 20/20,” so says the proverbial anecdote. A similar phrase is, “If I knew then what I know now…” It’s the reason why sports teams drafted Ryan Leaf and Kwame Brown and regretted those decisions years later.
And in my life, I’ve known plenty of hindsight endeavors. Times when I thought something was great, only to discover that “greatness” was more of a dream and less of a reality. Or the reverse was true – what I thought was a miserable situation evolved into something life-affirming and character-developing.
Sometimes it’s involved friendships, or familial connections, or relationships. I’ve oftentimes had to live with my decisions, right or wrong. One turn right when I should have veered left; a change in direction augmented my inflection.
Example.
Why did I ever take up photography as a hobby so many years ago? Part of me still wonders what might have happened had fate not intervened.
It’s 1995, and I was freelancing at the time for Hockey Ink!, a minor league hockey monthly newspaper. Yeah, I know, but hey the publication lasted for at least three and a half years. Go figure. Anyways, I wrote articles for the publication, and one of Hockey Ink!’s photo freelancers, Lisa Meyer, would drive up to the Knickerbocker Arena, as it was known back then, to take pictures for the publication. That’s all well and good. But as much as I valued Lisa’s skills – and she was a good friend back in the day – I couldn’t get articles published without some sort of photograph accompanying it. And I couldn’t always rely on Hockey Ink! to pull a proper photograph out of its archives – one cover story featured two players fighting against the ice, and any sharp-eyed AHL hockey fan would know immediately, based on the players in the fight, that the picture was at least three years old on the date of publication.
I remembered those moments. And when I started working with Goldmine, the music collector’s biweekly, again I had to provide images to accompany my articles. Most times that meant label scans and promotional photos. But I couldn’t just rely on whatever vinyl or shellac or polystyrene was available for me. And eventually I purchased my first digital camera. It was a Nikon CoolPix 800, it ran on two AA batteries, it had a built-in flash and could probably hold a few low-res pictures on a CompactFlash card. Still… it was my first camera.
When I moved up to my first DSLR – the Nikon D70 – I donated the CoolPix to an animal shelter so that they could document the abused and malnourished animals that were dropped off to their care. And eventually, my photography itch went from “necessity” to “hobby.”
Over time, I followed this hobby of photography from an awkward necessity to a deep and intricate involvement. How many times have I pulled over, grabbed whatever camera was in my car, and took a picture or pictures of something spectacular – a rainbow, a cloud formation, an ironic sign, anything. How many times have I experimented with different film techniques and disciplines. Sometimes all I did was destroy the film. Other times… I came up with something new and unique and award-winning.
All based on experimentation. All based on necessity. And all traced back to struggling for crumbs on a monthly newspaper that was antiquated three minutes after it was published.
Now let’s look at the music collection. Arguably, we don’t build a music collection. A lot of what we call our “record collection” or our “iPod collection” is based on everything from what we’ve heard to what we’ve inherited.
My first music collection came in the form of Disney and Cricket children’s records that my mother bought at the local Jamesway and that I played on my little GE Wildcat four-speed dropchanger phonograph. But eventually, through my own purchases, through buying “under-the-table” boxes at flea markets and at garage sales, through my years with WHCL and 3WD, I amassed a large record collection. At one point I had over 6,000 45’s and maybe 1,500 albums. Eventually I trimmed the collection (okay, by “trimmed” I mean with a machete), and my current record collection fills one box of 45’s and a small shelf of LP’s.
But in that collection of vinyl treasures are songs that mean everything to me. Ballads. Dance tracks. Imported songs and “I don’t remember where I heard this but I love it” songs. In hindsight, had I skipped buying that “under-the-table” box, had I not asked one of my college classmates to bring back some 45’s of Human League and Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark from their trip to England, had I not spent ten years writing for Goldmine magazine, how different my musical tastes might be today.
Had I not taken that typing course in high school… oh heck, had I not watched my Grandma Betty at her job, as she typed forms and bills and other secretarial documents on an old IBM Selectric with those metal “element balls,” how would I have ever developed the impetus to take my thoughts and quickly, seamlessly, effortlessly transfer my dreams from brain-theater to a typewriter. And then, eventually, to a computer screen. And after all that, to a blog that you’re reading today.
Life takes many, many different paths and pathways. Robert Frost talked about the road less traveled. But here’s the most important thing to remember. Your pathway is still available. There’s still a distance that has not been achieved.
And so long as you stay alert to your choices, be mindful of the possible results, and remember that every choice you make will create a ripple effect for ages…
You can look back at your travels with 20/20 hindsight…
And never worry about what you’ve seen.
Chuck The Writer 