Today Is THE Day!

And I Thought It Would Never Get Here!

Today is the day.

That sentence has been sitting out there in the future for a long time. It has been on the calendar. It has been in my notes. It has been in conversations. It has been part of my planning, my packing, my daydreaming, and my quiet little moments of wondering, “What in the world have I gotten myself into?”

But now it is here.

Today I get on a plane to London.

There is something strange about travel days. For weeks, or maybe months, a trip feels like an idea. It feels like a collection of tabs open on a computer. Hotel confirmations. Flight times. Walking routes. Camera decisions. Weather guesses. Packing lists. Little notes scribbled down so I don’t forget something obvious.

Then suddenly, the trip stops being an idea.

It becomes luggage by the door.

It becomes a passport in your hand.

It becomes one last look around the house before you leave.

And in this case, it becomes the beginning of the Photo 24 Project.

The basic idea is simple enough, at least on paper. I am going to London and attempting a 24-hour photowalk. Twenty-four hours of seeing, walking, noticing, photographing, and trying to stay awake long enough to tell the story of a city through my own tired eyes. And there could be as many as 100 to 200 other photographers joining in “the fun.”

That sounds wonderful.

It also sounds ridiculous.

Both things can be true.

The plan is to travel light, which has become more and more important to me as I get older. I am not taking a huge camera bag full of lenses and accessories and things I might possibly need if twelve unlikely situations happen at the same time. Those days are behind me. Or at least I hope they are.

For this trip, the heart of the kit is my Leica Q2 Monochrom. One camera. One fixed lens. Black and white. Simple. Direct. No color to lean on. No lens changes to fuss over. Just light, shadow, shape, texture, and timing.

I’ll also have the PlatyPod with a ball head, along with a few filters — ND, yellow, orange, and red. That should be enough. And if it isn’t enough, then I’ll make it enough.

That may be part of the point.

The walk itself is what has me excited. London is one of those cities where history and ordinary life seem to bump into each other on every street. I want to photograph buildings, monuments, graffiti, reflections, and random street scenes. I want those little in-between moments that happen when people are just going about their day and the light lands exactly right for about three seconds.

The first part of the route begins near the House of Fujifilm around Covent Garden. From there, the plan is to work my way toward Shoreditch. That route alone should be full of opportunities: Long Acre, Drury Lane, Lincoln’s Inn Fields, Holborn, Farringdon, Smithfield Market, Charterhouse Street, the Barbican area, and then eventually farther east toward the texture and street art of Shoreditch.

That is the part of me that feels like a kid again.

A kid with better shoes and a much more expensive camera.

But then there is the other part of me.

The almost-68-year-old part of me.

That part is a little more cautious.

I would love to pretend that I am only excited and not apprehensive at all, but that would not be honest. I am excited. Very excited. But I am also wondering if I can actually do this.

Twenty-four hours is a long time.

Walking is one thing. Walking for hours and hours while carrying gear, staying alert, making creative decisions, looking for photographs, dealing with crowds, managing food and water, and trying not to run out of energy is another thing entirely.

At this age, energy is not something I take for granted anymore. I still wake up early. I still enjoy being out and about. I still love the feeling of a camera in my hand and a city opening up in front of me.

But I also know my body has opinions now.

Sometimes strong opinions.

There is a younger version of me that would have looked at this project and simply said, “Let’s go.” No hesitation. No second thought. Just charge forward and figure it out along the way.

The current version of me still says, “Let’s go.”

But then he adds, “Let’s also sit down when we need to. Let’s drink some water. Let’s not be foolish just to prove a point.”

That may be the real story underneath the Photo 24 Project. It is not just about London. It is not just about black and white photography. It is not even just about completing a 24-hour walk.

It is about finding out what adventure looks like now.

Not when I was 25.

Not when I was 40.

Now.

At this age.

With this body.

With this much life behind me, and hopefully a good bit still ahead of me.

I do not want to spend this season of life only doing things I already know I can do. There is comfort in that, of course. And I like comfort as much as anyone. Maybe more than some.

But there is also something deeply good about placing yourself in a situation where the outcome is not completely guaranteed. Not dangerous. Not reckless. But uncertain enough to make you pay attention.

Can I finish the walk?

I honestly don’t know.

I hope so.

I’ve planned for it. I’ve thought about it. I’ve tried to be smart about the gear and the route and the pace. But at some point, planning ends and experience begins.

That point is today.

Today I get on a plane.

Today the Photo 24 Project stops being something I am thinking about and becomes something I am doing.

And maybe that is why I feel this mixture of excitement and nerves. Because this trip matters to me. Not because the photographs have to be perfect. They won’t be. Not because the video has to be some grand cinematic masterpiece. It doesn’t.

It matters because I am still trying.

Still curious.

Still willing to walk into a city with a camera and see what I can see.

Still willing to test the edges a little.

Still willing to be surprised.

So here we go.

London is waiting.

The camera is packed.

The plane leaves today.

And somewhere between Covent Garden, Shoreditch, midnight streets, tired feet, black coffee, old buildings, passing strangers, and whatever light the city decides to give me, I hope I find a few photographs worth keeping.

Even more than that, I hope I find a little more evidence that getting older does not mean the adventures are over.

Sometimes it just means the adventures require better shoes.