A Pitch Black Path

I read somewhere recently that you can't feel fear and appreciation at the same time. I don't know if that's true, but I like it and I want to think about it a lot. Because I guess there are a lot of things that are scary to all of us. You can't escape the presence of fear. I'm still always going to be afraid if I'm in some pitch black place at night, because stuff like that is hardwired in us for survival. But sometimes there's little things to appreciate in places of fear.

I remember one night out with my friends as a teenager, we walked along the road to a park near one of their houses. In the streets preceding the park entrance, we had the streetlights. In the park itself, there was enough residual, nearby light to cast a dim glow over us. But in this small piece of woodland path between the streets and the park proper, the trees blocked out almost all light. All of us were scared going through there, but we went together, and we laughed, and it was worth it to be together at night in this secret place just for us. We made fun of each other, we played up the scariness, and in facing the unique mortal terror of the darkness, we were elated.

So there was something to appreciate there, in that moment, and in a lot of fear that small gem can exist. I've done some things that were hard or weird or that I couldn't wait to be over, but in so many of them there was something to appreciate. Sometimes it was something a difficult experience taught me, or sometimes just something good adjacent to something bad. Nice memories with someone who isn't around any more. The perfect forensic testimonial of a torn sentimental note. Knowing that pain means you care, and that maybe that can't be bad. Or maybe just getting to buy nice new pyjama bottoms when a hole appears in the butt.

So I guess, hold my hand, and we'll walk that pitch black path.

All pictures taken in the Museum of Modern Art, Sunday 23rd September 2018.