Introduction
I’ve been writing this blog for nearly three years. Over that time, I’ve thought about whether the site is achieving what I intended when I wrote the first pieces. Indeed, it’s worth asking whether my initial objectives have changed—and if so, how.
My soul-searching is timely because my friend Phil Davies recently approached me with some thoughts on the blog and my other social media content. Phil has a keen eye and a strong artistic sensibility. He volunteered his opinion that my Instagram profile may not be totally accurate:
Runner. Observer. Stroke survivor.
Phil questioned my use of the word observer. At first, I wasn’t sure what he meant, because he had always been complimentary about my photo runs. For those unfamiliar, photo runs are a cornerstone of My Second Running Life—they make this blog what it is. As an example, here’s a piece I wrote about my run in Longview a few weeks ago.
For me, there’s nothing better than going out for an easy run with no worries about time and pace, seeking only a memorable photograph. I look for different things—colour, pattern, contrast, human interaction, irony—and observer was the word I settled on to describe what I do on these runs.
Phil went on to explain that there might be more to this process than observation. He even jotted down some thoughts, which I present here as my first guest submission on the blog. The photographs are mine, but Phil selected the pictures he wanted to accompany his writing.
In nineteenth-century Paris, the flâneur was a stroller who transformed the act of walking into an art form; moving leisurely through the city, observing its ebb and flow with an artist’s eye and a philosopher’s curiosity. Armed with nothing more than time and attention, he understood the city itself to be a living canvas, constantly repainting itself.
Steve’s approach to running and photography is a modern embodiment of this classic figure—using movement through the city as a form of creative engagement rather than mere exercise or transit. His curiosity and his keen eye allow him to see the extraordinary within the ordinary.
The flâneur’s genius lies not in destination but in observation—he reads the city like a complex novel, deciphering the social codes written in architecture, fashion, and gesture. In the Parisian context, this meant lingering in the arcades, studying the interplay of commerce and desire, watching how different classes of people navigated the same spaces with entirely different purposes. The flâneur sees what others miss because he moves at human speed rather than the hurried pace of those bent on efficiency.
Transported to Calgary among the gleaming downtown towers and the sprawling neighbourhoods stretching toward the Rockies, the flâneur’s eye discovers different rhythms and revelations. He might capture the interplay between the city’s frontier heritage and its contemporary energy—perhaps pausing to photograph how the morning light catches the glass of a modern office building while casting shadows on a historic sandstone church. My friend Steve embodies this Parisian tradition, combining the flâneur’s contemplative wandering with the practical purpose of his runs. His camera serves the same function as the flâneur’s notebook—a tool for capturing the moments that define urban life; transforming the ordinary act of moving through space into a form of creative observation. In calling Steve a flâneur, I celebrate something valuable but increasingly rare in our hurried world—the importance of moving through our environment with alertness, engagement and appreciation.
– Phil Davies, December 2025
Concluding thoughts
Until my discussion with Phil, I would have said that I wasn’t doing anything different from any other street photographer, except that I’m moving faster than most of them. When I’m cruising the streets, I do so with thoughts of my photography idols in mind; people like Fred Herzog, Elliott Erwitt, and Saul Leiter. I wish I could be one-tenth the photographer that they were.
I also move through the streets with a clear purpose. I welcome the creative tension that comes with choosing a location and then watching for promising scenes to develop in front of me as I’m running. Many times and for many reasons, I’ve missed a shot that I wish I’d captured. But that’s alright, because sometimes I come home with a treasure. I can’t ever be too hard on myself about this, given the parameters I’ve set for myself.
In the end, it may not matter what label I use—flâneur, observer, or something else. Phil, you’ve helped me see that this process of roving exploration is well worth the effort.
My Second Running Life 