Learning to Linger

I am not the first, nor will I be the last to draw parallels between photography and philosophy. But as I spend more and more time with my camera, I find myself thinking more and more about photography not just as a medium for creativity but also as a medium for how I think about the world and my place in it.

I’m 52 this week, and whilst that is not considered old in any modern sense, I have found the past year or so that I have been thinking more and more about my place in the world. The lifestyle influencers have a name for this period of life that I really like - middlescence (coined as a play on adolescence). Middlescence is the liminal years between adulthood and older adulthood. It’s often a point in our lives when kids - if we have them - are beginning to fly the nest, when we found ourselves reflecting on where we are in our careers. Unfortunately for some of us it also accompanied by a switch in the roles between us and our parents were our parents start to rely more on us, than us on them, and for some of us it can also be a first exposure to serious illness or at the very least a creeping realisation that our bodies are not as strong as they used to be.

In my middlescence I’ve found myself increasingly drawn to reading books or ideas with a philosophical dimension as a way of helping me make sense of my place in the world, anything from stoicism to buddhism is fair game for me at the moment. And so it was I found myself recently reading a wonderfully accessible and whimsical book - Travels with Epicurus, by Daniel Klein. Klein’s book is a meditation on growing old gracefully expressed through the medium of a prolonged stay on the greek island of Hydra, immersed in the rhythms and pattens of the community he stays with, and in particular the old men that he spends time with. He draws on the philosophy of the Epicureans, who were not - as many think - wanton hedonists, but rather a view that the ultimate goal in life is to achieve happiness and tranquility by seeking modest, simple pleasures and avoiding pain.

As I read this book, I often found myself not just questioning my own attitude to growing old, and how I approach my life, but also drawing parallels in what Klein writes for my photographic practice.

One of the premises of the book is that we find ourselves in a society where people actively find ways to avoid old age. The “forever young” culture promotes practices which are designed to keep you young and stave off old age. The life hackers tell us that we can stay young if we eat this way, take these supplements, move our body in this way, follow this protocol, set these ambitions, keep up these side hustles. Klein’s argument is a simple one; by trying to avoid old age we miss out on one of the most beautiful, fulfilling and meaningful periods of our lives. His argument is that old age is to be savoured. We should luxuriate in the fact that it takes us twice as long to do everything, because then we can enjoy the doing more. We should fold ourselves into the stillness, wisdom, and charm of being an elder, rather than actively try to defer or resist it.

Many cultures value this period of life much more than we do in the West. In these cultures elders are revered, sought out for their wisdom, looked on with love and respect. In our culture it feels like we’re encouraged to avoid this period of life altogether, hustle our way out of it, treat it as a sad manifestation of our inevitable decline and mortality.

Flipping Klein’s argument to photography, this premise is similarly clear. We live in a world where photographs are transient, where attention spans are shrinking, where our social feeds suck more and more images into the digital ether (I read somewhere that there were more photographs taken in 2024 than there were in the whole of the twentieth century). We are encouraged to hustle if we want to make it as photographers - shoot more and more, buy the latest and greatest equipment, keep posting to stay relevant, prioritise our brand, feeds and likes over real human connection.

As I think about what I want for my photography, I ask myself if I want to surrender to the hustle culture, or actually in doing so am I missing something intrinsically valuable and fundamental about photography. Photography to me is about slowing down, observing, savouring and preserving the moment. It’s the stillness and peacefulness of luxuriating in old age, rather than giving in to the life hack hustle culture. It’s the languid time spent watching, observing, noticing - much like the old Greek men do in Klein’s book, rather than hurrying our way through our daily to do list.

I should just add that I have no issue with people wanting to do the right things to keep themselves happy and healthy in old age, just as I have no issue with people who embrace the benefits that the digital and social media age have brought to photography. I keep myself is shape, I try and eat well, I post photos online. But my point is that I want my photography to feel like it has importance, relevance and says something (even if just to me), just like the way the old greek men on Hydra are viewed with respect and reverence, sought out for their views of, and wisdom about, the world. For me, that means photography as a slow, deliberative, and mindful practice, not as a means to digital relevance, more followers or brand recognition.

I was lucky enough to spend a morning the other week wondering around the riverside in Faversham. It was a gorgeous morning, a light mist lifting off the river as the town woke up and eased itself into a lazy Sunday morning. Walking along the river and out of town I came across an old boat yard that was a fascinating, ramshackle mix of a heavy machinery graveyard, a boat renovation yard and a hub for alternative, off-grid living. With my camera in hand, I couldn’t fail to observe that this was a place with a spirit that was the polar opposite of hustle culture. Like the old men on Hydra in Klein’s book, there was no sense of needing to conform to what the modern, material world expects.

The photographs in this post are from that morning; a beautiful old Morris Minor luxuriating in its old age, old boats slowly fading into the riverbanks and surrendering to the inevitable pull of nature. They’re a visual reminder of the core message in Klein’s book - there’s something to be found in surrendering to, rather than fighting, the inevitability of growing old.

I came away from Faversham and from reading Klein’s book reminded that I don’t want my photography - or my life - to be about chasing the next thing. I want to let it unfold at its own pace, to give myself permission to linger, to notice, to savour.

Thanks for reading!