I can’t remember the last time I wasn’t in a rush.
I started rushing through the traumatic moments in life as a way to cope. I rushed to school and skipped out on kissing my grandmother, not knowing it was the morning she would die. I rushed out of the driveway and into my friends’ car after my parents were in an argument, which became the night my father got arrested. I rushed away from the community and home that I knew, to enter an unfamiliar one, alone.
I’ve spent so many times rushing through the hard moments in my life, unwilling to feel the emotions that can reach you when you stay present. However, while doing so, I realized I’ve somehow been rushing through the good moments, too. Like the instinctive mammal I am, it’s in my nature to run. If I’m running, nor rushing, through life, then I can minimize the emotions that accompany it.
By going through life following this method, I’ve missed the security and integrity that come with experiencing the in-between moments of good and bad. The kind that comes to you like a ray of sunlight in between buildings on a cold day. These are known, in my eyes, as the slow moments. The ones that make you stop, like an unexpected pink sky on your morning commute or a song that gives you goosebumps.
I felt as if I was craving a lesson in learning how to find this in-between clarity that comes with a “slow” life.
Then I came across Paul Auster’s 1995 film “Smoke.” There was a scene that particularly stuck out to me. Auggie, an Italian-American Tabaccheria shop owner, thinks of himself as a photographer. He takes a picture showcasing the corner of his Tabaccheria every morning, at the same time each day.
He found such importance in taking note of the similarities that come with each day, along with the grand differences that time can inevitably bring.
This, to him, was the way to witness life.
Many would argue that this was holding Auggie back from seeing the world. But to him, by slowing down, and finding the beauty in the familiarity was just as equal as making the trek to Rome or Greece. In fact, this street corner was his Colosseum. He felt he was capturing the essence of something greater than cultural relevance or beauty. He was capturing time.
One day, Paul, a recent widower andAuggie’s best client, walks into the Tabaccharia for some cigarettes. He notices Auggie’s camera on the counter and is curious about his interest in photography. They decide to get a nightcap and Auggie brings his various binders of photographs.
When Paul looks through them, he quickly notices they are all of the same location. He doesn’t get it and starts questioning Auggie. Auggie explains that there isn’t anything to “get.” If you look carefully, each picture is different. Each day represents a new beginning or new season. Some photos are washed out by rain, some are blotted out by the sun, but each one represents another day in his life. They showcase the slow difference of the time periods changing through clothes, new store openings, or technological advancements.
Eventually, Paul starts paying more attention to the meticulous differences of each photograph until he comes across a blurry frame of a person he thought he knew with precision: his recently deceased wife. For a person he knew every crescent of, he had never seen her this way. The photo is from someone else’s eyes but also somehow through her eyes. She is being effortlessly herself; talking on the phone during her commute or sitting on the curb patiently waiting for the bus.
There was such beauty in the way she was doing such mundane things.
He starts sobbing. These photographs serve as a release for Paul, one he had been searching for. He had no idea that stepping into his favorite Tobaccaria would lead to this. Auggie had captured his wife in a way that felt fresh and like Paul was getting to know her all over again.
This story moved me as if I was sitting there next to Paul.
After watching, I instantly started writing how it made me feel. My curiosity with the emotions pulled out from this film needed to be organized. The only way I could understand them was by writing about them. Usually, writing is my way to explore the inner makings of my mind. There is no other outlet that gives me the same type of clarity. I’ve tried yoga, walking, among other things, but writing is the only way I can be the most honest with myself.
I first started writing poetry–I thought of it as a perfect way to capture a feeling. However, when my feelings started becoming more complex with age and newfound trauma, I started spilling them out on the page in a form of stories, or journal entries, if you will. Most of my writing comes from lived events and the exploration of the emotions that followed. Poetry just couldn’t contain it.
Once I started writing frequently and capturing the events in my life as they happened, I felt compelled to write nonfiction more than any other form. I was a nonfiction writer. One that would always pull from emotions and opinion before fantasy. But in fiction, I could be inspired to connect with my feelings. “Smoke” did that. I watched it as I was watching a real person’s life unravel.
Viewing how Paul Aster attempted to capture the quick moving concept of time helped me understand that I’ve been unknowingly capturing mine. I thought of all the moments I have been missing by moving at a speed I can’t keep up with. I thought I was letting time vanish without a trace of it even to look back on. But I was wrong. Auggie used photographs to take note of each day, and I’ve been using writing, in some form, since childhood. Since the age of seven, I have kept a journal. These journal entries have turned into short stories, poetry books, and songwriting. I’ve been able to pull from my past to create a piece of art that can celebrate where I am in the present. Most of my writing always goes back to my fascination with time.
Truthfully, I think I was attracted to this story because Auggie’s daily photographs shed light on a very dark concept. This being, that everyone, not just myself, is always in such a rush. A rush to not be alone, to run from trauma, and to jump forward to the future instead of enjoying life that can only be experienced in the moment.
But in Auggie’s world, it seems time can be proven to be elongated. However you try to expand your time, whether it’s writing, photography, or another form of artistry, you should take solace in the slowness that comes with creating.
The beauty of each day can overtake the sense of always trying to reach for the future.
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Tricia Patras is a writer from Chicago, currently residing in New York City. She is published in multiple mediums across the globe; Business Insider, BUST Magazine, and Resonate, to name a few. From her poetry Instagram account of 8,000+ followers, @achainofthoughts, she was interviewed for Medium. She also has a newsletter with over 3,000+ subscribers on Substack. Her debut poetry book, A Book Of Time, will be published in 2025.
