I’ve been thinking this week about the word “practice.”
Practice was something that I guess first entered my life 40-some years ago when I was in high school. I played the trumpet, and every afternoon my friends and I assembled in the school’s music room for band practice. I was also a distance runner, and the end of the school day meant it was time for track or cross country practice.
Music and sports both required repetition -- practice. I played scales and exercises and musical pieces, again and again. I ran mile after mile. The idea of all this practice, of course, was that when it was Show Time -- whether it was a concert or a cross country meet -- I could perform.
Looking back now, I realize that there were days when practice wasn’t much fun...repetition sometimes morphed into drudgery.
It was also back in high school, however, that I got my first camera and took my first photograph and -- Holy INSPIRATION, Batman! -- what a light went on! I shot roll upon roll of film, a kid in a candy store (it seemed like there were pictures everywhere!) I made thousands of bad pictures and a very few good ones. Without realizing it, I began to practice photography daily. And drudgery? Why no way could this practice ever be anything but the most positive kind of kick in the pants ever.
So today, 40 years after high school, I’m still traveling the photographic path, and I laugh when I think about that old adage “Practice Makes Perfect” -- as if there’s some end-point I should strive for -- some concert well-played, or track meet victory, or even a perfect photograph I might make. What fun would that be? Where would I go from perfection?
I’m having too much fun everyday, simply practicing.
