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In a few months, it will be the ten year anniversary of me leaving the Christian faith.
In some ways, it’s hard to believe that ten years have gone by that quickly. In other, more painful, more personal ways, I feel every second of that decade reverberating through the present.
Change never comes easy. Our current hellscape of a political climate is a good case study of that. It makes me depressed for humanity to have a mountain of evidence available that police brutality against black people is a long festering wound, and yet people still, carelessly, cruelly deny that it’s an issue.
Most of you already know that I grew up in the Christian faith. Some of you already know I'm no longer a Christian, but if you didn't know, there you go. For purposes of this post though, I'm going to treat Christian belief neutrally. My hope is that any believers reading this can hear my point, and not feel unnecessarily attacked.
I have a confession.
I’ve talked about it with my wife, but I’ve mostly avoided saying it in public: I haven’t been able to finish a music project in well over a year.
It has been surprisingly therapeutic to walk around paying attention to things that I would normally pass without a second thought, or write off as ugly blight.
When I look back through my non-family, non-travel photography over the years, I’ve had a few sessions that I am consistently happy that I did when it was available: abandoned places.
Right before our quarantine, I had a chance to go out to several Areas of Outstanding Natural Beauty (AONB) in the southwest side of England.
Normally, that would be pretty cool. It’s a lovely country. But, as is often the case, change is inevitable.
