Last summer, I offered pay-what-you-can portrait sessions; I did three of the ten promised shoots, edited one set, and then put my camera away sometime in late August, and haven't taken it out since.
At the time I attributed it to exhaustion from the readjustment to work, but sometime last fall, it became evident that I wasn't getting the same enjoyment from taking pictures as I used to. When I was working a temp agency job, I had hoped to supplement my meager income with photography work, but I quickly realized that I didn't have the same level of skill, comfort, and (most importantly) hustle as some of the other photographers I know in the city, so I decided to cede my ground.
I don't know when I'll be taking pictures again. I don't feel that I have the comfort level around other people needed for portraiture, and I'm sure my general tenseness bleeds into the shots. The times I relax, the shots are usually out of focus or improperly framed. Candid party photography is out of the question; I'm more comfortable doing photobooths, but those have a certain level of rigidity built in, even as the alcohol makes everyone loosen up.
I think there have always been ulterior motives behind my attempts to sell myself as a photographer. Money. Cachet. The opportunity to connect with people. It doesn't feel like I've really been able to take pictures for the sake of taking pictures in a long time, though, and I've hit a bit of a plateau in terms of enjoyment and technique. I post them for the hits on my webpage and the likes on my Facebook, but I don't think I really have anything to say with my work besides "I like getting attention".
Around the same time, I abruptly postponed my SNL reviews. I was hoping to be done reviewing the 1984-85 season by this point, but as I was trying to compile my introductory remarks on the season, I just had a huge rush of "why am I doing this?" and realized that the amount of work I would have to put into each review would better be spent looking for better paying work, maintaining a social life (or trying to), and perhaps watching things that I haven't seen multiple times already.
I sometimes feel boxed in by my whole SNL fandom. It's been a big part of my life for the better part of the last 20 years (it really took off around the time the Comedy Network launched in Canada, with their twice-weekly chronological reruns of full length shows), but when I think about the amount of time and effort I've put into watching, researching, and chronicling a show whose history continues to expand, I ask myself "what am I doing this for, and at what expense?" I don't know what my endgame is. I do eventually want to get through 1984-85, but I can't see myself continuing with the reviews indefinitely, and I feel like I invest too much time and effort into something that's ultimately a niche hobby with a very specific audience.
Sharp-eyed readers will notice that I got rid of the last few "31 in 31" posts. I rarely delete blog posts, but these seemed to descend into repetition and whining after the tenth day or so (up to the point where I abandoned the project). Like with photography, I began to feel like my writing was motivated more out of a desire for attention than anything else. I was starting to run out of stories, and my pulling back from the world meant my brain was becoming an echo chamber for my various insecurities and neuroses. When I'm like this, I tend to pull back even further because I don't want to start draining people; I miss the closeness, but am too afraid of imposing or intruding on other lives, especially those that have considerably more to juggle than I do.
I honestly don't know what I have to say anymore. We're in scary times, and I think there are too many other voices that need to be shared more than mine (another white male). I don't feel especially connected to other people, but I feel even less connected to myself, and I don't think it's right to try to get too close to another person without a better idea of who I am.