IT’S TIME FOR REFLECTION WITH THE LEICA SL2-S

As I sit here, poised to retire for the second time – a feat so unforeseeable I might just invent an award for it – I can't help but reflect on the peculiar charm of stepping away from the familiar. It's a bit like leaving a party while still having a good time, only to realize you've forgotten how to use the front door and end up wandering into a surprise adventure, possibly involving wine, cheese, and the Renault of my dreams. That's retirement for you, or at least the version I'm embarking on.

You see, knowing when to move on is a bit like understanding the British weather – it's unpredictable, occasionally dampening, but always a good excuse for a cup of tea and some quiet reflection. Retirement, in this sense, is not an ending but a hearty nudge towards new, mind-expanding endeavors. For me, these endeavors involve venturing into lands where the language sounds like an exotic dish I'd be too scared to order, and customs that seem as baffling as completing “WORDLE” in Swahili.

Why, you might ask, would one willingly step away from the comfort of the known into the labyrinth of the unfamiliar? Well, for the same reason, you might choose to wear mismatched socks – for the sheer thrill of it. In my case, the thrill is supplemented by my trusty cameras, my silent companions in this journey of discovery. Wandering with them is more than a hobby; it's a sort of medicine, a remedy for the mundane, a way to see the world not just in colors and shapes but in stories and whispers.

These cameras have seen more than most eyes do – they've captured smiles in hidden alleyways, sunsets that argue with the horizon, and cats with questionable intentions. They're not just lenses and shutters; they're my passport to the unexplored, my ticket to a show where every act is a surprise.

And let's not forget the potent medicine of change and reflection. Change, after all, is the universe's way of nudging us out of complacency. It's like a friend who insists you try escargot for the first time, and before you know it, you're wondering how you ever lived without it. Reflection, on the other hand, is the quiet conversation you have with yourself afterward, possibly over a glass of something peaty, pondering the peculiar yet delightful path you've stumbled upon.

So, as I embark on this new chapter, camera in hand, ready to misunderstand foreign languages and misinterpret local customs, I do so with a heart full of anticipation. I may not know what adventures await, but I'm certain of one thing – they'll make for one heck of a story, possibly involving a lost map and a serendipitous encounter with a wise, yet slightly intoxicated, local sage.

In conclusion, retirement, or rather re-adventurement, as I prefer to call it, is not just about leaving something behind. It's about embracing the unfamiliar, finding joy in the perplexing, and capturing it all through the lens of experience – both literal and metaphorical. And if that isn't a recipe for a life well-lived, I don't know what is.

As usual, your thoughts and comments are always welcome.

Live Well!

M.

P.S. All images were captured with a Leica SL2-S and a 41-year-old adapted Nikon vintage zoom lens.