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Yahoo
11 hours ago
- Lifestyle
- Yahoo
Now I see photography as mindfulness, it's changed my whole outlook
When you buy through links on our articles, Future and its syndication partners may earn a commission. I'll be honest with you. Five years ago, whenever I took a picture, I was fundamentally chasing likes. That dopamine hit of validation that comes with a popular social media feed. Of course, as you might expect, none of this was making me particularly happy, deep down. A moment came eventually, though, when I started seeing photography in a different way. I was standing in a grimy street after a sleepless night followed by a soul-crushing day at work. I rain-soaked, miserable and late for dinner with friends I was no longer in the mood to see. Then I saw it. A simple puddle reflecting a neon shop sign, a pigeon pecking at its edge. Something made me stop. Made me crouch down. Really look. For about five minutes, I found myself unnaturally absorbed in capturing this scene. Getting the reflection just right, waiting for the pigeon to move into the perfect position, the passing car headlights to dip. What I learned Later, something struck me. During those five minutes, I realised, I hadn't been thinking about my deadlines or how I was going to pay the gas bill. I was just... there. Present. Focused. And afterwards, calmer. Lighter. After that, I gradually came realise what most photography enthusiasts come to discover. That when you're truly engaged in taking a picture – not just pointing and shooting, but really seeing – you're forced into what neuroscientists call "single-pointed attention." And the effect on your body and soul can be very similar to a meditative state. As I started to approach photography in this way, it didn't just relax me; it started to open doors in my mind. I began to notice things that were always there, but previously invisible to me. The way morning light cuts through a window and creates patterns on a newspaper. How a fence can frame a sunset so perfectly it looks intentional. None of this, of course, is easy. Real photography requires patience. The patience to wait 20 minutes for a cat to move into the perfect patch of sunlight. But rather than getting frustrated, I learned to embrace the waiting, enjoy it even. If I didn't get the shot in the end, it started to matter less. The process was more important than the results. Why this matters I'm not suggesting photography alone can solve your anxiety, or replace actual therapy. But in a society that assumes mindfulness is all about apps, classes or luxury retreats, it's worth noting that there are other, simpler ways to achieve it, especially if you're keen on photography to begin with. I've learned, in other words, that my camera is as much a way of achieving 'presence' as a yoga mat. It can help me see the world instead of just moving through it on autopilot. And it's led me to notice beauty, and to find moments of calm, in the chaos that surrounds me. Other opinion pieces by Tom May: I bought a phone with a terrible camera and it made me a better photographer I worry that my favorite photos will have vanished by 2040 Do we really need to replace the sky in your photos every time Solve the daily Crossword
Daily Mail
17 hours ago
- Health
- Daily Mail
I've been hooked on alcohol, cocaine and bad men. But this is the vice afflicting millions that I found the hardest to give up - and how I finally did it: BRYONY GORDON
I think about it all the time. At least once an hour, often two or three times. I think about the feel of it in my hands, the sensation of it in my mouth, the euphoric effects it has on my body, the type that are so blissful they have always left me craving more. Sometimes, I will be grappling with the stress of a day and I will want to cry out for it right then and there, slap bang in the middle of the street.
The Guardian
2 days ago
- Climate
- The Guardian
Why do I hate umbrellas? How long have you got?
Umbrellas, I don't like them. Don't get on with them, never have. When my aunt in Zagreb was absorbed in some crime drama on the television, she would say it was 'as tense as an umbrella'. The English translation doesn't work, but if I may turn it around, I would like to explain why umbrellas make me tense. There are so many reasons. If I need an umbrella, I rarely have one. If I do have one, I then leave it somewhere. If it's windy, that humiliating inside-out thing might happen. All in all, it is very much not worth the bother. My hairdo isn't changed by rain anyway. Yet so many people don't seem to leave home without an umbrella, and they are only one raindrop away from calling on it. I marvel at this level of organisation, even envy it, but there should be a law against putting up a brolly if significant rain isn't coming down. Late for a hospital appointment last week, I was hurrying along a city street when I felt the merest sprinkle of rain tickle my cheek. In an instant, the umbrella ultras sprang into action. It was as if this was the moment for which they had been waiting, yearning. Their internal rainometers, being set to ultrasensitive, were triggered. And with astonishing speed and economy of movement, umbrellas were retrieved and unfurled. Their reaction times were something to behold. They were like sprinters hearing the B in bang, or Clint Eastwood in one of those spaghetti westerns – so quick on the draw that the journey of the brolly from handbag to hand to unfurling is barely observable to the naked eye. 'Unfurl' isn't quite the right word, implying as it does a more leisurely movement. This is more like a snapping open, as violent as the snapping shut of a Venus flytrap. One moment there are no umbrellas, then there are dozens. I would say a third of pedestrians on this particular street, on the approach to Guy's hospital in London, were now brollied up. This changed everything. I gave in to despair. I was already late, and this was going to hold me up still further. We were now split into two groups: the brolly-holders and the brolly-dodgers. The former move faster than the latter. Shielded from rain and harm by their lethal weapons they can hold a straight line, armed with this contraption featuring at least eight metal ribs, the tips of which can cause untold harm to those they prod. The potential for ripping, tearing and the poking out of eyes is very real. I'm 6ft 1in tall and, I now realise, particularly vulnerable to eye injury. I've just measured my neighbour, Dawn, who comes in at 5ft 4in – roughly the average height of a British woman. I gave her a standard eight-rib weapon to hold and, sure enough, the tips are precisely at my eye-height. Out there, on the pavement, in brolly-battle conditions, you have a choice: pull in behind a brolly-holder and work their slipstream, proceeding at a pace dictated by them. Or, if you are brave, foolish or late enough, the brolly-dodging must commence. There are two key manoeuvres, both tricky. Overtaking a slow-mover ought to be easier than dealing with oncoming traffic, but often they don't know you are there, so could catch you inadvertently. Those striding towards you will see you coming but they will generally hold their line anyway, as they are armed and you're not. On occasion you will be swaying to avoid a sudden deviation from someone you are overtaking, and momentarily lose sight of an oncomer hard upon you. At this point you need to be able to duck and weave like Muhammad Ali in his prime. To develop your technique I would also recommend watching YouTube videos of legendary rugby centres such as Brian O'Driscoll, Sonny Bill Williams or Ma'a Nonu dancing their way through defensive lines. Yes, it is this kind of fleetness of foot you need to develop if you wish to move at speed in even a light drizzle on a busy British pavement. Adrian Chiles is a broadcaster, writer and Guardian columnist
The Guardian
2 days ago
- Climate
- The Guardian
Why do I hate umbrellas? How long have you got?
Umbrellas, I don't like them. Don't get on with them, never have. When my aunt in Zagreb was absorbed in some crime drama on the television, she would say it was 'as tense as an umbrella'. The English translation doesn't work, but if I may turn it around, I would like to explain why umbrellas make me tense. There are so many reasons. If I need an umbrella, I rarely have one. If I do have one, I then leave it somewhere. If it's windy, that humiliating inside-out thing might happen. All in all, it is very much not worth the bother. My hairdo isn't changed by rain anyway. Yet so many people don't seem to leave home without an umbrella, and they are only one raindrop away from calling on it. I marvel at this level of organisation, even envy it, but there should be a law against putting up a brolly if significant rain isn't coming down. Late for a hospital appointment last week, I was hurrying along a city street when I felt the merest sprinkle of rain tickle my cheek. In an instant, the umbrella ultras sprang into action. It was as if this was the moment for which they had been waiting, yearning. Their internal rainometers, being set to ultrasensitive, were triggered. And with astonishing speed and economy of movement, umbrellas were retrieved and unfurled. Their reaction times were something to behold. They were like sprinters hearing the B in bang, or Clint Eastwood in one of those spaghetti westerns – so quick on the draw that the journey of the brolly from handbag to hand to unfurling is barely observable to the naked eye. 'Unfurl' isn't quite the right word, implying as it does a more leisurely movement. This is more like a snapping open, as violent as the snapping shut of a Venus flytrap. One moment there are no umbrellas, then there are dozens. I would say a third of pedestrians on this particular street, on the approach to Guy's hospital in London, were now brollied up. This changed everything. I gave in to despair. I was already late, and this was going to hold me up still further. We were now split into two groups: the brolly-holders and the brolly-dodgers. The former move faster than the latter. Shielded from rain and harm by their lethal weapons they can hold a straight line, armed with this contraption featuring at least eight metal ribs, the tips of which can cause untold harm to those they prod. The potential for ripping, tearing and the poking out of eyes is very real. I'm 6ft 1in tall and, I now realise, particularly vulnerable to eye injury. I've just measured my neighbour, Dawn, who comes in at 5ft 4in – roughly the average height of a British woman. I gave her a standard eight-rib weapon to hold and, sure enough, the tips are precisely at my eye-height. Out there, on the pavement, in brolly-battle conditions, you have a choice: pull in behind a brolly-holder and work their slipstream, proceeding at a pace dictated by them. Or, if you are brave, foolish or late enough, the brolly-dodging must commence. There are two key manoeuvres, both tricky. Overtaking a slow-mover ought to be easier than dealing with oncoming traffic, but often they don't know you are there, so could catch you inadvertently. Those striding towards you will see you coming but they will generally hold their line anyway, as they are armed and you're not. On occasion you will be swaying to avoid a sudden deviation from someone you are overtaking, and momentarily lose sight of an oncomer hard upon you. At this point you need to be able to duck and weave like Muhammad Ali in his prime. To develop your technique I would also recommend watching YouTube videos of legendary rugby centres such as Brian O'Driscoll, Sonny Bill Williams or Ma'a Nonu dancing their way through defensive lines. Yes, it is this kind of fleetness of foot you need to develop if you wish to move at speed in even a light drizzle on a busy British pavement. Adrian Chiles is a broadcaster, writer and Guardian columnist
Times
4 days ago
- Entertainment
- Times
Nine of the best family games for the summer holidays
I grew up fighting with my siblings and watching Neighbours and Home and Away. When we got bored, we'd be thrown outside to play in the street or told to shut up and play a game. Fast forward 100 years and I'm a kids' coach (and a lawyer), and my early days being forced to play games have turned me into a fully fledged addict. I love them — I use them to salvage a rainy Sunday afternoon with no plans; to keep things light in coaching sessions and to prise my own kids away from their screens. I really believe there is a game for any occasion: have a child struggling with maths? Rat-a-tat Cat will get them adding up small numbers in no time — don't punish them with Rummikub unless and until they become more confident. Perhaps it's a teenager who struggles with school but is amazing at art — crack open Pictionary. What about a kid just having a hard time, feeling things keenly and lost in their feelings? Try the very silly Gas Out, to lighten the mood. This most steady and reliable of games keeps everyone happy and it's very fun. I don't think I've been out for a family meal without it for about five years. The aim is to get as low a score as possible so it's very good for learning how to add up small numbers. Everyone gets a card with the same list of 12 topics — eg a girl's name, a fad, something your partner does that annoys you — and everyone also gets given the same letter, eg T. You then have three minutes to give a word for every subject ('Tamsin', 'Tamagotchi', 'Turns off sockets at the mains even when there's nothing plugged in'). If you don't have the same answer as anyone else, you get a point. It's sort of like an inverse and live version of Family Fortunes. The questions in this game are updated in line with current affairs, supplementing a stock of evergreen questions. You play on an app which can be off-putting if you want your game time to be screen free, but you do learn a lot while you're having fun. If you're tech savvy it means you can play with friends remotely too. • Read more parenting advice, interviews, real-life stories and opinions Two brilliant and absorbing building games with a very high boredom threshold. Yes, it's a bit annoying to crawl around looking for one of the random tower pieces but in this case, the juice is well worth the squeeze when you beat all previous tower height records and your opponent marvels at your dexterity and engineering prowess. The kids' version of the grown-up game Linkee, although truthfully the Dinkee version is plenty hard for the adults in my family. The game itself is like Only Connect — each card has four seemingly random questions on it. You write down the answer to each, and if you can guess what links the four answers you win the card. It's an absolute riot and I can see my kids' brains unfurl in real time when we play. This card game is based around a watering hole. You start with a hand of animal-themed cards, from elephant to mouse, and the bigger animals 'eat' the ones further down the chain. Each go, you lay cards and pick up cards, trying to 'eat' other animals to keep in your stockpile. It's really simple and quite therapeutic. This card game is basically snap but with actions and a hypnotic chant. The players all chant 'taco, cat, goat, cheese, pizza' over and over again, matching the rhythm to the laying of cards. If the card laid matches the word being said, you 'snap', and the last one to snap has to pick up all the cards. To add a twist there are additional elements where players have to do an action. The last one to do the action has to take all the cards. • The best podcasts and audiobooks for a family road trip This game is suitable for all ages. It's basically about farts and not being the last person to hit the button that triggers one. There's a central character toy, Guster the Gas Cloud, with a button on top. Each player starts with three cards. Each go you play one and pick one. The cards have a 1, 2 or 3 written on them. You have to press the button the number of times that is written on your card. The fart builds up each time and if your push lets one go, you are also let go! Simple, dumb fun. Another winner that has kids crying with laughter. Players are asked a simple question and they have five seconds to come up with three answers before the buzzer rings. It's a good one to take out with elderly relatives as they can play too. Quick and easy. What are you favourite holiday games? Let us know in the comments below
