Today saw a difference to my usual Monday work routine. Mondays are usually my full work from home day, whereas today was a staff retreat day. All of us headed to Amberley Retreat Centre for a day of vision and planning for 2013. A good time shared with colleagues whose company I enjoy, and productive in terms of focusing us collectively for the remainder of the year to come, it was a 15 minute late in the program that challenged me.

We were given the opportunity to spread out amongst the grounds and spend some time in quiet and reflection, as a means to bring some closure to the dreaming that had taken place during the day. I headed straight outside and lay in the lawn in front of the main building, and spent my time starting at the cloudless sky. What I thought was going to be a simple enough task became a more concerted effort, and I came to a realisation: my thoughts are crowded.

I thought reflecting on the day would be an easy idea, however as soon as distractions were left behind, thoughts about anything and everything rushed to fill the space. As I was tried to force my thoughts down the path of walking through the discussions of the day my mind would throw up distractions of many kind: plans of things I want to do to the camper trailer, thoughts of having learnt to weld the previous day, what a fantastic location the grounds would make for a shoot, dinner for the evening, the office/home work balance, traffic on the way home, conversations I want to have with colleagues. It seems that there is a cacophony simply waiting for me to be still enough so it can take over.

Thinking about it in the time since then, I’ve realised that I no longer make any time for quiet in my life. I find myself so scarce of time free from work, Beth, Eli, hobbies, things I want to watch/listen to, reading, friends and family, that finding some time spare quickly goes to one of those other things. They’re not necessarily a good way to spend that time (and I don’t want to think about how many hours/days/weeks I’ve lost to the TV series and movies that have been watched), but there are so many things waiting to fill any of that spare time that there is no intentionality in making that spare time, and making it to be quiet. I’m realising it’s a cycle that I’m revisiting through busy and quiet times in my life, even if that cycle is years in between repetitions. After a hard 15 minutes of mentally wrestling, it’s become clear I just need to make time to be quiet, to be still, and let my mind catch up with the pace of everything else. I need to make time to retreat, not just when work directs me to.

I blinked. That’s all that seems to have happened, but I did what so many people will tell you – blink and you miss it. The baby who I see in the most recent previous entry is far gone, replaced with a talking, reasoning, climbing, running, counting, singing, iDevice-using little man who we share our life with.

I can’t seem to work out where the last two and a half years have gone. As I read through some old posts, after being reminded of this oft-neglected corner of the internet, it is truly amazing what has changed in that time. While I still work for the same employer, my work is so vastly different. We’ve farewelled our housemates of five years  when they moved with their boys and dog to the other end of the country. We’ve moved house, moved church, changed cars, and changed lifestyles. But to see that baby smiling up from a couch, compared to the boy who will carry his dishes to the kitchen and get his own frozen yoghurt icy pole when dinner is finished, it seems like only a blink has gone by.

I feel inspired to write.

It has taken quite some time since this specific inspiration has hit. Creativity isn’t an issue of late, ideas are still flowing – be that slowly or thick and fast, they’re still flowing – but the inspiration to put hands to keyboard in a situation that is not all but ideal for writing has been missing. All it has taken is a glimpse at a photo on the blog of a random person of whom I have no idea who they are, and inspiration hits.

Life has been hurtling along at an amazingly fast speed. Work flies by without much stop, weddings have been shot and turned around every second week, with the opposite week usually containing meetings to book in further clients. I’m not complaining, mind you – with Bop on the way, the extra cash is helpful. And with some of the frames I’ve made over the past six weeks, I’ve been eternally grateful for wonderful clients to work with, who have been nothing but relaxed, warm and totally open to run with what I suggest.

While I’m nothing but happy with the fact I have work there (and almost to the point where I was about to start turning work away), I have mixed feelings at times. There have been a couple of weddings that have involved almost as much time in the car two and from than was actually spent at the wedding – 3.5 hours in the drivers seat is perhaps not the best way to start a day off where creativity, clarity and energy are required to be on and running nonstop. These weddings, while they have been two of the more fun ones to shoot, are more tiring than the others. The second long drive wedding saw me make it only as far as my In-Law’s place where I was picking up Beth, before I crashed. She had to drive the rest of the way home. As often as not, though, it’s the aftermath of the wedding that brings the biggest bag of mixed feelings.

I have the simultaneous joy and dread of living with my number one (me) and number two (Beth) critics. Each wedding Beth looks over the shots from the day and gives me a critique on the images I’ve made. At times it’s daunting to sit next to her as she flicks through everything – while she may not admit it, she’s got one of the sharpest eyes I’ve seen for composition and direction. And she doesn’t hold back if an image is below par. Yet it’s one of the most beneficial parts of each wedding I shoot, as it only serves to hone my vision and keep me on my toes before I click the shutter – I figure that if I can make both her and I happy with each frame I take, the the clients are going to be nothing but happy and grateful for the photos they get.

In my roundabout way of getting to the point, I’m trying to emphasise that while I haven’t been writing, the creativity is still there – thankfully (and it is one of the things, after my wife and my baby that I am most thankful for) it hasn’t gone AWOL on me. The simple fact is that when life gets busy and hard, something gives, and the inspiration, time and discipline to write is often one of the first things to go. That’s not to say that the odd phrase or idea won’t still come into my head; it just doesn’t get translated into any physical form.

The walk to our local supermarket is nothing if not short – 220m or there abouts. As a result, I end up walking there and back at least once on most days. It’s become a short time out in my days where I often do start to compose posts, emails, images or entire shoots in my head. Specifically the walk back when it’s a mild summer evening seems to be the best formula. The walk is never a thoughtless one, but when there’s mounting pressures of deadlines, clients, and the day to day running and engaging in a life for two-plus-another-coming, the time it takes to walk there and back is often the only forum that those thoughts will get until things settle down. And, as the existence of this post indicates, things have settled down.

Tomorrow morning I get to have breakfast with my Dad before meeting some clients. Mum’s actually down in Melbourne tonight, so it’ll just be the two of us tomorrow (his joke was that he can’t provide bacon and eggs, but does do a pretty decent cereal, toast and coffee), but I’m looking forward to it. Things settling down often seems to happen at just the right time for things that have been planned months in advance. I’ve had this client meeting booked for over a month, and dinner tomorrow night with some friends we haven’t seen for a very long time for even longer, yet knowing that things have settled down means that tomorrow is going to be even more enjoyable. I know I won’t be stressed while driving down to Dad’s, and that I’ll enjoy the time with a clear mind not focussed on the meeting ahead. And the drive back will be time for me to sit with a clear head, and enjoy a Saturday morning drive. No pressure. And while I’ll still be aiming to get back to Melbourne as soon as I can, it won’t be a cloud hanging over my head. It will be because I want to get back to my wife, and enjoy these moments of simplicity.

The weather outside isn’t frightful. It’s a beautiful summer day. Clear skies abound with warm sunshine, and a gentle breeze gently wafts through the open windows. It’s fast approaching mid-December, and somehow the “Christmas cheer” hasn’t reached me yet. Our shopping hasn’t even been started, though there is a master list that has every purchased planned out. Carols don’t fill the music coming from our computers. Wandering the shops seems somehow surreal, as if everyone else has jumped on board the Christmas bandwagon and somehow we’ve been left behind.

I’m usually a lot more receptive to Christmas. I went through a period of a couple of years where it wasn’t the most wonderful time of the year. Not that I had anything against it, but I didn’t hold onto that excitement and wonder as December approached, and the whole situation seemed more of a somewhat amusing anecdote than a side-splitting laughter inducing tale of hilarity. That changed when I met Beth, when having a significant other made the whole season a lot more joyous. There were presents to be given. Presents to be received. Presents that didn’t come from parents or family members, and hadn’t been expected due to our usual early-December “what do you want?” conversations. The last few years have been exciting at Christmas; the last two moreso as we’ve enjoyed them as a married couple. This year however, the uptake is slow.

The Christmas tree has been delayed. While we don’t hold to a fixed tradition of sorts, it usually goes up around the first weekend of December, and serves as the signpost of a transition into the yuletide season. Putting the tree up has been something we’ve done with our housemates, as they share our tree each year, whether that be from us being the more sentimental ones, or simply the more organised. Christmas music of some description fills the air as we talk, laugh, assemble and decorate. This year the first couple of weeks have seen us with the house to ourselves, as our housemates have been up in Queensland, spending an early Christmas with one side of their family. As much as we’ve wanted to get into things, it seems wrong to put the tree up without them.

There’s been speculation of what it will be like this year. Our housemates’ son is now over a year old, and is walking and trying to talk. He helps unpack the dishwasher, picking up each glass, plate or bowl and handing it to you with a noise as closely approximating a thank you as he can manage. Pegs are his other speciality, handing them to you one at a time as the washing is hung out. We’ve considered whether he’ll get into the spirit of the season with us, and unpack the decorations, handing them to whoever ends up decorating the tree. As it turns out, he’s in his high chair on the dining table, eating his food, as we get around to it.

A Friday afternoon comes around, and we’re all finally home and free at the same time. The box is dragged out of the roof, and the tree begins its assembly. Upon something akin to forethought, we realise that the full-erected tree won’t fit into the planned space without cutting off most of the major thoroughfare for upstairs – a bad idea, as nice as it may look. Bookcases are unpacked, entertainment units unplugged, and furniture is moved around in an attempt to rearrange the living areas to fit the 7-foot tree. After 10 minutes of sweating, we sheepishly realise that the now completely rearranged furniture needs to go back to its original configuration, with a mere single bookcase moved to the opposite wall to accommodate the tree. Ten minutes more, and we’re all set to continue.

Music is put on, the windows are opened, drinks and snacks make their way upstairs, and we begin to ease into things. The form of the tree is quickly assembled, and the decorations soon follow. Laughter flows, smiles are fixed to our faces, and the tree takes shape. I sit back and soak it up as Beth finishes decorating the tree.

I’m happy. Our tree is a catalyst, and I’m finally starting to get into the mood. I find myself becoming more expectant, looking forward to the next two weeks before Christmas finally arrives. A quick walk down to our local supermarket soon after leaves me happy, joyous and filled with Christmas cheer, as I realise the decorations are a great idea, and not preemptive marketing. A smile fixes itself to my face as I arrive home and view our completed tree. It finally feels like Christmas.

Beth reads all of my posts before they go live. It’s not something that has always been the case, but of late I’ve either handed my laptop to her, or sat her down at my desk to gauge her thoughts before I hit post. I’m not even entirely sure why I do it – it’s not like anything I’m writing oversteps boundaries, or over shares any information in our marriage. But after two and a bit years of marriage, I’ve gotten used to getting her opinion on things.

Our relationship is something that from the outside may seem a bit quirky, but it’s the most special thing to me. We have our own way of doing things, our individual way of journeying through life together, that sometimes makes others scratch their heads. But they don’t know us as well as we do, and they have every insight into how we function.

Eight months after our wedding, we headed down to Inverloch with my family for a few days away – an attempt to reclaim some form of a family holiday. We shacked up in a beach town during the middle of winter – not smartest of ideas, to be entirely honest, but the heater kept us warm. I remember waking up each morning before Beth and reading out in the lounge, leaving her to sleep in peace. When she did wake, I made our breakfast, and we ate together.

I remember my Mum looking at me as I made breakfast each morning, not entirely understanding what was going on. Whether it was bemusement, or trying to figure out just how we worked, I distinctly remember thinking that no matter what she was thinking, she didn’t know our relationship’s dynamic. We have our own way of doing things, we have our own method of going about life. If that’s different to everyone else or not, I don’t care. It’s what gets us through.

Recently we’ve both been noticing how we have a tendency to say the same thing at the same time when in a group of people. Sometimes it’s a reaction to something that’s happen, or an (attempted) witty comment. It’s happened enough times of late that now we laugh at it. Before we tied the know, It may have been a sure fire sign that we spent too much time together. Now, I see it happening and I’m proud. I’m proud we get to spend so much time together. I’m proud we enjoy each other’s company so much that we still want to hang out with each other every day. I’m proud of the way we live our life.

A colleague of mine commented for a while about how she loved that Beth and I take off together, whenever we can. Whether it be a week on the beach, some time with friends interstate, or just a night in a hotel, we grab any chance to stay somewhere new with both hands. My colleague commented how she loved that we both prioritised going away together, and did it as much as we could, both in financial and scheduling sense. It is one of my favourite things to do with Beth – to the point where we’ll drive two hours to have lunch in a restaurant in Portarlington.

Time together is something that doesn’t grow old. I work from home each afternoon, sharing my work hours almost equally between the office, and our study – and I love the fact that I get to be home with Beth during the afternoons. She works from home as well, and although we may not be constantly talking, there is something about sitting in the same space as my wife that gives me a peace. The ability to work from home is something that I am unimaginably grateful for – and I’m sure that will only grow as Bop is born, and we begin the next journey together.

I’ve often claimed that I would love to be a stay at home dad. I would love to be around as much as I can with our kids when they are growing up (yes, I said kids. We want more than one!). And what I once thought was going to be a lofty dream, a reality only if we put off having kids until we were in a place where I could work for myself, we find ourselves in the situation where it’s as close to being a reality as we could ever ask an employer for. Safe in the knowledge that my afternoons will be spent being on-hand to help Beth with Bop, I am all the more excited for this baby of ours to be born. And all the more excited to be with Beth as we go through it all.

We thrive on time together. It’s how we function. It’s why I’ve grown so used to having her around, and all that she brings to everything in my life. She helps me dealing with clients. She gives me input on designs for work. She helps me schedule shoots both for work and for James Burke Photography. She critiques every wedding I shoot, and that is something that continues to grow and stretch me as a photographer, and to make me strive to be better at my craft. She bounces ideas off me, and I bounce my ideas off her. We talk, plan, and dream together. We discuss issues that come up on the website we’re both a part of. She even laughs at how tacky and lame certain Wii games can be while I’m playing them. That’s why she reads my posts. Because I love her insights, love her thoughts, and love that it’s one more thing that we do together.

The last few months, as I’m sure you’ve read by now, have become something of a period of rebirth. I’m rediscovering a lot of things that I hadn’t even noticed had fallen by the wayside – creativity, writing, vision. Even the littler things are starting to come back.

Just before we headed to Coolangatta for our “baby-moon”, we finally decided that the time was right to make one of my dreams a reality, and buy a new TV. We ended up getting a 42″ full HD plasma (theoretically along with a free home theatre system via redemption – though that is an entirely different story), and although it didn’t get much of a workout during that first couple of weeks due to our marked absence, since our return it has been put to good measure.

Now, I don’t want this to come across like we have no lives, spend all our times in front of the TV, or are entirely anti-social. The simple fact of the matter is that we both like watching TV. We’ve both got shows that we enjoy, I’ve then got more shows that I enjoy that Beth won’t go near, but for both of us it’s a relaxant, an escape, and a way to unwind. Being typical Gen-Yers, with no attention span or patience, we end up watching a lot of TV shows that have already screened here, or never made it to our shores. As such, shows are watched season by season, as opposed than the traditional model of an episode a week. Because of that, we crank through shows fairly quickly – and are often on the hunt for a new show to start from the start, and immerse ourselves in. The big beauty of the new TV, is the blu-ray disc recorder that handily has a USB slot. That means anything downloaded can now be watched on the big TV, not on the laptop on the end of the bed. A simple joy, but a joy nonetheless.

Blu-ray has been the big discovery for me. Initially, in my uninformed days, I’d written it off as a gimmick, as something that would be nice but would never lure me in, at least not until it became industry standard, and format governed our ability to find something to watch. However, having watched a movie or three in full high-definition, I am unashamed to admit that I am a total, utter convert. A sell all my posessions and live in a commune type convert. I’m sure being both a past student of TV production, as well as a photographer does make me somewhat more inclined to embrace the extra pixels that come with the definition, but it’s more than a knowing technical acknowledgement that courses through my mind while I’m watching 1080p. There’s a brilliance that returns to the screen, a clarity that I often even find lacking in the cinemas, especially to an eye that makes it money from focussing. And, nerdy admission though it may be, it’s brought back a passion for movies.

For the past several years, I’ve seen most films that are released at the cinemas. By most, I generally preclude any overtly kid-only films, or in days before Beth anything that required a female’s company to enjoy, but I watched a lot. My usual dilemma when going to the cinemas wouldn’t be what time to see the film I wanted, but whether or not there’s anything in a slightly-obscure cinema screening a film that I haven’t seen yet. Even after marriage, this continued. Beth worked in retail, and had an unavoidable Friday night shift, and a Sunday shift – and both made perfect movie-going time. I’m fairly sure that in most circles of friends I pioneered the solo trip to the cinemas, and am quite an advocate for seeing a movie for yourself. Sure, I prefer to go with Beth any day of the week, but for a movie that you want to see, no one to see it with should never be an excuse. With Beth no longer working shifts when I’m not at work, my solo cinema trips have dwindled – yet a very good and cheap local video store has been my hero. Yet even with thousands of titles I’ve still yet to see (there is even a list somewhere, I think, of films I still haven’t gotten around to seeing. Mega Shark vs Giant Octopus may just be one of them, Matt – purely for the lols), I’ve found that my borrowing rate has dwindled, to the fact where I went to hire a Wii Game, thinking that surely I must have hired more than the prerequisite 200 DVDs to be entitled to safety-deposit-free game hire, only to find that I was a good 70-odd titles short. My somewhat-hidden guise as a movie freak has slipped.

Tonight, on independent inspection, would seem to be a return to those ‘glory days’. I watched Public Enemies on BD, the day it was released on that format. Of the two other films I’ve seen on BD, it by far eclipsed the mark set by either in terms of clarity, quality and sheer delight in picture quality. I’m not ashamed to admit that it sparked something, too. There’s a part of me inside that is brimming with excitement to crank my way through the ever-growing selection of Blu-Ray titles at our local store; even screening films I’ve seen before simply to enjoy the full picture clarity goodness. That wasn’t the only spark-inducing moment.

Finishing the film, I flicked through the channels to see what was on, and stumbled across Band of Brothers being screened on Channel 7. Not only that, but catching a couple of minutes of it on 7HD has left me wanting more. Band of Brothers is indoubtedly my favourite series of all time, across all denomination of film, tele-movie, television series, etc. I must have watched it over 10 times through all 10, hour-long episodes, and yet will still sit down utterly entranced and watch them all again. There is an excitement and a dread growing inside me for The Pacific, the other series from the same creators, purely for the fact that it could achieve the brilliance that its predecessor does, or it could fall short. But even with my love for the series, catching a glimpse of it in high definition has only served to whet my appetite for more.

I’m a stories guy. I always have been, and I have no doubt that I always will. This is why I watch TV, why I sit entranced through so many movies. I get lost in stories. I can identify with them so easily. I love the extrapolation of humanity that is conveyed through stories – be they simple or far, far reaching. And in a reference to what I was thinking and writing about last, stories beget stories. A rediscovery of that spark to watch, listen, immerse and consume stories is only going to be a good thing for my creativity. And I think that is why I am so excited.

Writing. There’s something alluring to it, something that calls to me. Writing has been a part of most of my enlightened life – ever since early primary, I was a big story writer. That continued and flourished into high school, with English being one of my biggest and best subjects, and one of the easiest. I could churn out an essay in the period before it was due, and know that I was guaranteed at least an A, if not an A+ for my last-minute efforts. In my spare time I wrote fiction; countless half-started plots that never amounted to anything more than a collection of hand-written pages sitting in a folder.

Writing gave way to blogging, soon after school finished and my time online increased exponentially. I’ve had a blog in some form or another since the end of 2002, and although the name, location and content have changed several times in the following seven years, there has been a blog of some description with my name (or at least a name) to it.

Here’s an admission: I used to write Star Wars fan fiction. That sentence alone completely outs me as the geek I am deep down, though I at times hide it behind the outgoing/creative/photographer exterior that I put forwards. Through the end of high school and into the first two years of Uni, I wrote my fair share of fan fiction. Most noticeable was a piece that spanned some 140-odd pages, something that I began in mid-high school and last contributed to during my early days of post-school freedom. Yet that, like most of my other work, sits in a folder. Collecting both physical and metaphorical dust.

My last attempt at writing any fiction came in 2005, when I attempted to participate in NaNoWriMo – National Novel Writing Month. Each November, participants are encouraged to write a 50,000 word novel in 30 days. I started on track, cranking through 2,000 or so words a day for the first few days, before the time and inkling to force myself to write wore off. I swore that even though I didn’t get it finished in the 30 days, I would at least do that idea and concept its fair duty and finish it – yet four years later, It’s still a Word Document that ends mid-paragraph. Since then, any writing has been solely limited to postings online, client contracts, the occasional training manual for work, and letters to Beth in the early days of our relationship.

Writing has been a part of my life for a while; that much by now you’re well aware of. And while I’ve never held the dream that I would become a writer, or even write anything that would be of a level to be published, I’ve realised I’ve always taken it for granted that writing would continue to be part of my life. For a long time though, I’ve had neither inspiration, desire, or the two combined to actually sit down at a desk, cafe, or anywhere with my laptop, and put more than a hasty post together. Recently it’s begun to change. Ideas are coming to me, lines of dialogue are popping into my head at the most random of times. Murder-thriller plot ideas coming to me whilst hanging up the washing in our roof void are one recent example. Yet I struggle to know what to do with any of this.

I’m not entirely convinced the ideas ever left me – more that they took on a different form or outlet. Studying Media and majoring in television production meant that a lot of time during my years at Uni were forcing myself to visualise concepts and ideas – and that translated to the following few years, as I continued to do the odd piece of production work. Yet that work has well and truly stopped for me – and thinking in terms of a video piece is now something I have to force myself to do, rather than something that happens of its own volition. These days, I also realise that writing comes under the overarching umbrella of creative direction and inspiration – but that’s a matter for further thought some other time.

I struggle to know what to do with the ideas now. My creative time is a lot less than it ever used to be. That in itself is not necessarily a bad thing or wrong thing (I for instance no longer find myself at a loose end wondering just what I’m going to do with my time), it simply means that I don’t have the time to sit, be still, and write. I struggle, because I wonder about the audience – whether certain things get or even merit one, and about how much of it is for sharing, and how much of it is an exercise in creativity and mental acuity for myself. Let’s be honest here – my job is not the most mentally draining or stimulating, more a matter of task & project managing, and being able to manage myself effectively with the freedom my job brings me. It boils down, therefore, to a matter of a few simple questions I need to work through. Do I make myself write? That’s something I’ve tried to do over the last few weeks, as I’ve felt my writing powers coming to the fore at certain times of day. Do I write simply as an outlet, as a way for me to continue to keep my mental and creative juices flowing, saving each file on my computer but taking it no further? Do I write, making the most of the micro-publishing that the internet allows us, and sharing all with what little audience I have? Or do I take that creativity, that time, as quantifiable measures, and direct them into other avenues – of which there are many I could see as inherently more useful and productive.

So I continue to try and sort through why I write. Whether I write. What I write. When I write. Who I write for. And wonder whether all the words produced amount to any, even infinitesimal, worth. Or whether they’re simply a slow, slow way of filling a hard drive.