Ben McKeown

Long time no blog.

Life seems tense these days.  It’s a combination of things, I think.  Much of my stress comes I believe from the general undertone of worry being felt in this country these days.  Just as economic troubles seem to propagate themselves, so does the bad mood that accompanies them.  I’m feeling it.  Additionally, my chosen field - media - issuffereing a doubly intense period.  For the media business, the paradigm is mid-shift.  And it’s painful.  I’ve been anticipating this shift for several years now just like many, many others.  The problem these days, I believe, is that so many of the folks who actually run things in this business didn’t anticipate this inevitability.  As a result, things are pretty much chaotic.  Of course, the debate on why the media business (especially print media) is suffering so much is well documented and ample, so I won’t dive too much into detail.  As it stands now, I am certainly feeling the pressure.

I wholeheartedly believe that this business - the business of storytelling, truth-searching, accountability - will survive and flourish once again.  It will be different in form, but essentially, the purpose will be the same.  The need for journalists, be them writers, photographers, radio anchors, has not diminished at all.  In fact, we need them more than ever in this country.  And I think that we’re beginning to see the resurgance in the demand for our leaders to be held accountable, as well as the demand for the telling of stories.  It’s apparent to me in the way that President Obama has been thoroughly criticized (though not necessarily maliciously) even at a time when many people believe beyond doubt that he is perfect for this country at this time.  Perhaps it’s a result of years of inaccountability and social complacency, but whatever the impetus, it’s undeniable that there are people out there who want to keep a close watch on what’s happening.  This is a good thing.  Though empty criticism and sensational outbursts of thoughtless malice (see: Fox News) is totally unneeded, real, true, pure journalism is absolutely needed.

At this point, there is no shortage of folks who want this pure journalism.  The problem is that the new pool of concerned citizens aren’t particularly schooled in the art of non-biased investigation (see: Huffington Post, Daily Kos, CrooksAndLiars, etc.).  I do believe these types of media have a place, but they should not take the place once held by newspapers.  Admittedly, I subscribe to some of these blogs and read them quite regularly.  Though unfortunately as the demise of newpapers continues to progress, I am more and more discouraged by the fact that some of these outlets, particularly Huffington, claim to fill newspaper’s slots.  It is utterly impossible for a company like Huffington Post to produce pure journalism while continuing to embrace a voice of purely non-journalistic timbre.  In a case like this, every “journalistic” piece is tainted by the residue of bias and agenda, thus stripping it of its legitimacy.  Subsequently, Huffington Post, et al. and Fox News really are hardly different in journalsitic legitimacy, they simply appeal to different demographics.  This is why we need what we used to have with newspapers.

Like I said, the debate on how to revive this function is copious.  Nobody really knows exactly how to proceed.  But I am confindent that one day in the not too distant future, we’ll see it again, revived, more mature, and as vital as ever.  The simple fact that this conversation is now very audible is encouraging to me.

So, me….

In the meantime, I’m struggling just like anyone else with how to make it through the shift.  I’ve seen a substantial decrease in work and compensation.  Finances are as tight as ever.  And like everyone else, I’m not only struggling with how to keep my wallet stocked, I’m also struggling with how to maintain positivity in my attitude, my mood, and my spirit.  And it’s not terribly easy.  I am susceptible to despondency.  The energy I require to keep myself up is great.  That said, it is absolutely worth the work.  I’ve returned recently to a few truths, a few constants, a few eternal verities.

Recently I learned that a friend of mine who also works in the media business (television) had lost her job as a result of company-wide layoffs.  Though I’ve gotten used to hearing about broad layoffs like these in this industry, I was frankly surprised to hear that someone like her - young, passionate, dedicated, and immensely talented - had been laid off.  I sent her a message in hopes of offering some sympathy and encouragement.  In the course of writing my message, I stumbled across something that I realized I should personally be fighting each day to implement:

“I believe that now is a great time to take stock of our blessings, invest heavily in our friends, and get a return on something beautiful like a summer evening or a springtime sunrise.”

These sorts of things happen when I write.  Even in the form of a brief facebook message, writing for me isn’t so much about creating as it is about finding.  (More about that here.)  So when I found this little nugget, it marked somewhat of a revelation for me.  I’ve consequently reconnected with a part of myself I’d more or less abandoned in the past few months.  Namely, I’ve done things like hike, enjoy the sunset, listen to the wind, sit on the edge of the river alone and write.  I’ve turned on some music that I’d let lie dormant for a while.  Acoustic stuff, soulful stuff, the kind of music that is born of those organic, eternal verities.  Right now, I’m listening to “Driftless” by one of my favorites, Greg Brown.  The ethos of this rediscovered philosophy is perhaps best encapsulated in this haiku I wrote while meandering around the river yesterday:

Touch things.  Walk on things.
Experience the sunset.
It doesn’t last long.

So, for what it’s worth, that’s that.  I actually intended to write something today about what projects I’ve been working on, what work I’ve done recently and such.  I’ll do that soon.  For now, though, I guess that it’s appropriate that my writing is about this deeper, more prevalent project - that of figuring out how to live.  I’ll finish with an excerpt from another poem.

Life
its decay, its perpetual forgetfulness,
its breath, so pure, so fleeting
moves timelessly
for time is only ours
and meaningless to god.

Come
beside me fly a moment
North, up, away from moments
stuck, forth, we’re only listening to
rules that whisper and grin,
flicker and then recede.
Be a breaking force against the
course followed, straightening for
the souls swallowed, distilled, in
stillness perpetual, inevitably
still uninspired.
Be apparent, live alive
or lie and die -
a corpse with blood and breath.
Come and with me
move, exist persistent,
restraint-free
You, me, your coffee, our dreams.

“It sure isn’t the same not having you to cry with,” she said in a text message.

It was around 1:00 AM on a Wednesday night.  I was in Boone, North Carolina, she in Washington D.C.  I assumed she was lying on a bed in a hotel somewhere near the Capitol, but it was equally possible that she was at a bar with her father and sister, or perhaps standing outside a restaurant on a cold D.C. street.  My body tightened when I read it.  Suddenly, and with absolutely no forewarning, I felt a deep sense of sympathy, perhaps the way a mother feels when her daughter wakes her after a nightmare.  I wanted to be there for her now.

I wanted to hold her.  And wipe away her tears and reassure her like I know only I can.  I wanted to be there.  “I’m so sorry darling.  How can I help you?” I responded.

She was sad.  Nothing bad, she said.  Just sad.  I felt infinitely too far away.  I couldn’t help.

“Love you,” she said.
I responded.  “Love you too.  I miss you.”
“Miss you too.” she said.

I had nothing else.  If I were close, I would have put my hand on her arm and squeezed gently, perhaps stroked her forehead with the palm of my hand, just held her.

I wasn’t close.

——

I sent her a text an hour later.  “Asleep?”

She responded affirmatively by saying nothing.  I closed my eyes and hoped for her.

As I was leaving I told her, “I really am happy that we ended up next to each other for a while, tonight and at this point in everything…”  I leaned down towards her, heavy, it seemed, like my whole body was a sponge that had been soaking up a dense and watery affection for these last six months.  I kissed her forehead gently.  I loved her, I was sure.

She lay still, slowly breathing, by all measurable means asleep.  I left quietly.

——–

Later, I wondered if I should’ve stayed.  On my phone, I typed out a text.  “Can I come back?  I won’t keep you awake.  I wish I hadn’t come home.”  I didn’t send it right away.  I couldn’t decide whether I should.

I stared.  Into my computer screen.  Into my future, hazy, bright, somewhat noisy, but a bit more alluring than ever before.  My mind weighed the alternatives.  All at once, a battle raged within my brain between what I wanted, what she wanted, what I needed, what she needed, and what would satisfy us both.  None was much stronger than another.  My thumb fixed itself atop the “send” button on my phone, its pressure increasing, decreasing, increasing; the tiniest intensification in pressure would easily forward my message.  I waited.  My thumb grew sore.  Then in an instant, the pressure, by no deciding of my own, perhaps simply as a result of my expanding anxiety, became too heavy for the button’s resistance.  The message sent.

I set the phone down on my desk.  No response.  I hadn’t considered this scenario, actually.  She was asleep.  The text, as the case most often is, did not wake her up.

She’d see it in the morning, I realized.  And with that, I relegated my night to a more dispassionate level and retired from the bother of too much thought.

I didn’t sleep last night.  It was simply one of those nights which for me have become all too familiar, a night where this awfully electric, kenitically anxious vibe fills my mind, a night where I have to do something.  So in an effort to make that something a productive something, I spent my hours writing, thinking, and quite deliberately reading.  (I’ve been reading American Gods by Neil Gaiman.  Just finished part one and I am absolutely riveted.)

So 5:45 am rolled around and I decided that I’d had enough laying in the bed not sleeping.  I showered, stopped by Chick-Fil-A for a spot of breakfast, and started driving (with no destination) and listening to Morning Edition on NPR.

I ended up at my favorite coffee shop on Ninth Street in Durham.  Not sure how, but I’m here now.

So I thought that with this stolen time I’d take a moment to throw down an official update on what’s been happening with Ben McKeown.  (That is the theme of this website, for goodness’ sake.)

A few notable items have been on the plate lately.  I’ll get to the juicy stuff in a second…

First, I’ve been working for a few weeks now with an indescribably talented group of people at New Raleigh, an online magazine devoted to covering the culture and happenings of my hometown.  Being that Raleigh is an incredibly dynamic and exciting place to live at this juncture, the opportunity to focus some creative and professional energy here is invigorating.  In the works for New Raleigh - an assortment of multimedia projects (see some teasers), a podcast, and plenty of original writing and photography.

Also, on the editorial front, the February issue of Vype Magazine has been released, and I am incredibly psyched about how it turned out.  The cover photo is one of my favorites I’ve shot for Vype so far and I was additionaly thrilled by the shots that were chosen for the inside.

Finally (and the crux of the title of this post), I’ve been spending quite a bit of time shooting Duke basketball for WRAL.com.  See galleries here and here and here…

As a result, I was asked to travel to Winston-Salem last Wednesday for a Duke vs Wake Forest game (by now it’s old news) that turned out to be an absolute heart-pounder.  Those who know me would confirm that it is no small secret that I am an enormously devout Wake Forest fan.  I’ve been a true-black and old-gold fanatic from the earliest moments I can remember.  In my elementary school days, I attended Dave Odom Basketball Camp, where (in addition to learning to ball quite well, I must say) my affinity for the Deacs became immovably entrenched in the depths of my sports heart.  As such, I attended last week’s game with a dual-personality: photojournalist/fan.

Lawerence Joel Coliseum was veritably explosive.  I have attended high-profile games now at all of the Big Four’s (Duke, UNC, NCSU, & Wake) home stadiums and I am absolutely not remiss in telling you that Joel is second only to Cameron Indoor Stadium for the most intense venue in college basketball these days.

If you didn’t see the game, watch the highlights of the finish.  Briefly, first half is tight, Wake erupts to start the 2nd, Duke goes on one of their signature runs and ties it with 2.8 seconds left, Wake wins at the buzzer.

It…. was…… awesome.  (Shut up, Richard!)

And with that I want to publicly throw out a few ACC Basketball predictions that I’ve been privately propagating since the beginning of the season:

1. UNC will beat Duke twice.

2. The ACC standings will shake out to be 1) UNC 2) Wake 3) Duke 4) Clemson 5-12) who cares.  (In fairness, I originally predicted Duke would be 4th, but I have since revised this.)

3. UNC will finish the season as the number-one team in the country.

4. There will be two ACC teams in the final four.

5. An ACC team will win the national championship.

With that, I’m going to stop typing.  It’s 8:44 am now, The Killers are on the speakers at Bean Traders Coffee, and I have a lot of work to do if I’m going to take this all to the next level.  Happy February.