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Hey, I thought I’d use this letter to report on what I keep observing while photographing large, luxury homes with my friend and I’s real estate photography company: mansions do not appear to make people any happier than smaller homes. We’ve shot a bunch of houses larger than I’d previously ever set foot in, and I expected the people who inhabit them would be really happy about inhabiting them, but that doesn’t really seem the case. They are all still human and have plenty of problems just like the rest of us. Having “made it,” they also seem a little more bored than most people I meet. I’ve never really felt the pull to live in a really large house. With the experience of taking photographs of a bunch of them, I’m even less interested in the pursuit. There just doesn’t seem to be much of a return on investment—I’m quite sure there are better things to chase. The exception to this observation was a couple who owned a massive mansion atop a mountain that had one of the best views from inside a building I’ve ever seen. “Mike gets up to watch the sunrise with a cup of coffee literally every morning,” his wife told me. After we had performed our “Twilight HDR + Drone Photography Package” on their home and witnessed the view through their windows colored in cascades of pinks, purples, and oranges bleeding all over the mountains in the distance, I did see the real value in their large, luxurious home. However, I suspect this had less to do with the fact that their home was 7,300 square feet, and more about their constant jaw-dropping, glorious views. The real gift of their huge home was not that their home was huge, but that it was perched atop a mountain and what that allowed them to witness. A whole floor of their home, probably 3,000 square feet, was empty and completely unused the entire time they lived there, but Mike never missed a sunrise out his kitchen window, that says something. So, what I’ve learned is this: try not to waste your time pursuing the money to buy a huge house, but if you somehow accidentally do, make sure it has a great view. Great views are an unsung pillar of a great life. You don’t even necessarily need a mountaintop mansion to have them. If you can find something that’s taller than what it’s surrounded by and manage to get on top of it, you’re golden. Maybe it’s the roof of your house or a nearby building? Maybe it’s the top of a mountain without a mansion on it? Anything floating on a big body of water works as well too— as long as your above the water, you’re pretty much guaranteed to have a great view. Throw in the sun or moon coming or going over the horizon and you have a recipe for perpetual awe, spiritual renewal, and constant return to contentment. Heck, a huge part of why I’m becoming a pilot is to get paid to be in a place with great views. Speaking of that, I’m now eighteen hours towards the two hundred fifty turning point where I’ll get paid instead of pay for that great view. It’s been slow learning this month, as our flight school unfortunately only has one plane at the moment, but I’ve been progressing well in the time I’ve got to fly. The only thing I’ve really gotten hung up on is landing. I spent three flight sessions going round and round doing “touch and goes” and felt great pressure for two weeks this February to figure them out. During my fourth touch and go session, it clicked. Suddenly, I could land an airplane. I drove home elated and burst into my parent’s place with the good news rearing to escape my lips to find both of them stoically sitting on the couch, a stillness hanging in the air of the living room. My Grandfather had died while I was flying that morning. I don’t think I believe what I’m about to say, but the thought aligns so hauntingly well with the article Hawks, Fire, and the Problem with Pure “Objectivity” that I spent the past five months tinkering with and is attached to the bottom of this letter, that I keep coming back to it. When they told me he had died, my very first thought was “maybe he was up there helping me with those landings?” While I suspect that’s probably not the case, I also can’t say for sure that it isn’t either, and I’ve been thinking a lot about that. I did my first solo a few days later. It was a surreal feeling without my instructor in the right seat. I was surprisingly calm about it, an odd comfort found in no longer being able to be sure I was all alone. This one’s gotten way late on me. I hope that makes sense to you in the morning and that these words find you well. With love & stoke, Ethan P.S. More than enough applications made their way in for WONDER WANDER 2020 and I’m currently making some final, tough decisions. Next year, we might just have to find a place with no attendance limits, like a place where a bunch of people could camp and gather an awesome sheltered sort of meeting area? Do let me know if you know of such a place.
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