this is not it

As we came out of the Delta Sky Club in Detroit I saw it. The majestic 747, wings reaching for forever, framed in a huge wall of windows, backed by a killer sunset: the money shot.

I calculated what it would take to get the shot. My new camera was tucked away in its, also new, Crumpler bag behind zippers and clasps. The Mister, who was on a mission to buy a book before the flight, would have to be persuaded. A thousand, "oh it doesn't matter" thoughts tumbled through my brain.

I kept walking.

I've done it all my life. The script is on repeat: it's not important, art's not important, you're not important.

I've seen the money shot a million times and let it slip by.

The problem is, the more I show up and blip everyday, the more difficult it is to live with the disappointment.