There’s something magical about traveling to different places each week. Monday I could be in a rural town in Pennsylvania, and then Thursday a beach in New York. I try to keep an eye out for sights to see while I have gaps in my schedule.
I was working 10 minutes from a beach on Staten Island last week. After lunch I drove past packed schools, streets packed with parked cars. Suddenly, as if hidden from the busy town, I arrived at a nearly vacant park.
Bikers and dog walkers passed on the paved path as I snapped photos with my 35mm toy camera. Seagulls gathered in a pool of foamy, feted water. Their calls taunting some sharp-beaked sea birds nearby. There were strange structures in this place; some forgotten warehouse or factory.
I took my camera past the fenced off brush, and went down to the beach. I let the breeze coming from the ocean whip around my work shirt. Far off down the way a shirtless old man was casting a fishing rod into the water. I could see a lighthouse on an island miles away.
I get moments like this with my job. Tiny 1 hour vacations, micro adventures to places I wouldn’t think to explore otherwise. To everyone who lives there, this place was common and ordinary. To me, it was an uncharted frontier waiting to be documented.