David Heinemeier Hansson writing about his first big expenditures after striking it rich:

For the first few months, I barely touched any of the money. Sure, I bought a big screen TV and more DVD boxsets than I could hope to consume, but it wasn’t like I couldn’t have done that anyway. It wasn’t until near the end of that year I finally drew down on the account of cliched purchases: A yellow Lamborghini! While all very nice, very wonderful, it didn’t, as we say, really move the needle of deep satisfaction.

What kept moving the needle, though, was programming Ruby, building Basecamp, writing for Signal v Noise, taking pictures, and enjoying all the same avenues of learning and entertainment my already privileged lifestyle had afforded me for years in advance.

I never receive the same satisfaction from an iPad or iPhone purchase as I do a new camera or lens purchase. David’s remarks helped me realize it was the intangible feelings of capturing an image more so than the pleasure of acquiring new gear that really touch the soul.

The language of the sea is difficult to learn. It takes more than a random voyager to crack its vast mystery.

For instance, a single day in the middle of May renders a jacket useless and begs for the swimming trunks in the back of your drawer. Or a hike with ripped sneakers, jeans, and a film camera. And, perhaps, a wicker basket full of bread, cheese, and sparkling wine.

Editor’s note: These photos were first published in Vancouver 2015: Part 3. I’ve since returned to the photos to edit them differently, to break them apart into smaller packets, and to write about them from a different perspective.

The sun glistens above with not a cloud in sight and the elegant yachts float below in the warming spring air. Perhaps a line is cast, ready to pull in the evening’s dinner. Or the whales come by to gloat their grandeur.

Where, then, comes the need for a lighthouse?

A random voyager can only assume. Assume the sea has a different language. Assume the sea has a temper. Assume the sea is unanswered.

For surely there must be a need for a light in the fog.

Or maybe the time for that need has long since passed. Maybe the lighthouse stands by mere symbolism — a reminder of the sea’s personality.

A reminder that, across humanity, we’re all searching for a light. A light within; a light without. Somewhere. Anywhere.