609 words
The temperatures had hit a year’s low of minus sixteen degrees Celsius, and there we were. I was coming, and he was leaving. It was quite late in the evening, and both of us, cameras in hand, were scouting for locations for potential photoshoots in the future. Reserved in our approach, I nodded my head gently, which was accompanied by a softened smile, and he immediately relaxed and returned the gesture in kind.
“When you get past the reach of the lights from the parking lot, walk slowly,” he began saying in a strong accent that my ears could only place as originating somewhere in the Baltics.
“Is that for the ice or for the rabbits,” I asked.
“How did you know about the rabbits,” he responded with glee.
“They usually come out when the visitors at the park leave, and they gorge on whatever is left from the gardens here.”
There we stood in the parking lot as the winds pulverised the exposed skin on our faces and we quietly discussed our love for photography and how we both had turned our hobby into something much more in our own ways.
We talked about gear, oddball clients, practices in protecting oneself from said oddball clients, and the utter joy in partaking in the act of photography in silence. We compared how solitary acts compared to when working with clients or partners or even while going on a photo walk with others – of which some do a lot more talking than actual picture-making.
This experience mirrored what I had experienced multiple times last summer on dive sites. Even though our respective dive groups would not show up for another two to three hours, we were there early.
The Quiet Ones.
We nodded softly towards each other as we set up our dive sites for our co-workers and students, and after finishing, we chatted about the finer things about the profession.
Throughout the day, I observed the others who arrived early and went about their work; they all shared a common trait. They were calm, quiet and anchored the entire group in security. These are the people who got things done. They retrieved equipment stealthily before it was needed. They corrected students with slight adjustments here and there without uttering a single word.
Below the surface, we hovered behind the group, corralling them like sheepdogs without them ever truly noticing us.
At events, these photographers would switch to faster primes and shut off their flashes to not bruise the scene or, worse, blind a guest or the waitstaff.
In meetings, the quiet ones take in all of the data and are only heard if the information conveys a critical change is needed. Otherwise, it shows up in an email after the meeting, or matters are adjusted in the report that is to follow.
The Quiet Ones are the lubrication in the machines that facilitate the societal contract. While others pummel over others to make their point and to make personal and professional advancements, the quiet ones get the task at hand finished. These quiet individuals are not introverts. They do not shy away from contact or conversations. They are more deliberate in the way they impact their environments. These people leave every room they enter in a better condition than when they entered. These are the people who a lot of us wish to emulate.
Here’s to The Quiet Ones. Thank you for making the rest of our lives easier, and as someone who likes to listen more than to fill his environment with noise, it is a joy running into those of you who like to do the same.
