The Stories We Tell Ourselves
I once believed that stability meant staying put, that consistency required routine, and that adventure was something other people pursued. But eventually, a quieter realization took hold: these weren’t facts. They were stories I had repeated to myself until they began to feel like truth. I started to wonder what else I had mistaken for reality. What other inherited beliefs had quietly shaped the contours of my life?
Relearning to See
I’m standing in front of the lighthouse on Brier Island, Nova Scotia, squinting at my cell phone screen. It’s windy and bright, the air thick with salt and the faint sound of waves meeting rocks far below. I know exactly how I want this image to feel: romantic, adventurous, the kind of photo that makes people ache to stand here themselves. But when I look at the image I’ve captured, it’s flat, just a snapshot. It’s good enough for a phone, but not enough to satisfy what I’m chasing.
Reclaiming Attention in an Age of Distraction
I pick up my phone without thinking, thumb moving automatically, drawn by a force of habit rather than any real decision. Mid-scroll, awareness returns, sudden and sharp, and I catch myself in the act. A discomfort settles in my chest. My attention, that quiet current shaping every experience I have, is slipping through my fingers. How long have I allowed distraction to dictate the rhythm of my days?
The Myth of the Big Leap
“I want to go part-time,” I say.
My manager sits across the desk, a slightly quizzical look on her face. I’ve been in a full-time position at this hospital for nearly fourteen years. I love what I do, but I’m burning out. I need more time to pursue my life.
She leans back, hesitant.
“How many hours do you want?”
“Three days, eight hours each day,” I tell her. Then I pause. “Three in a row.”
Because I know how this works. I know there will be some effort to control it, to fragment the time.
The Architecture of My Creative Life
I lean down and scratch Margo behind the ears. She squints her eyes and begins to purr. A moment ago, I was still in bed. Now I’m making my way downstairs, moving through the small rituals that begin the day: grinding the beans, filling the kettle, opening the shades to let the morning in. The windows are a little hazy and could probably use cleaning, but I’ve grown to like the way the light comes through, softened and quiet.
What If We Didn’t Need to Escape
We’ve been sold a shallow version of the good life.
It looks like a beach chair. A plane ticket. A glossy brochure offering two weeks of escape from a routine that quietly wears us down. The structure remains untouched, but for a brief moment, we are allowed to step outside it, if we’ve earned it, if we’ve saved enough, if we promise to return.
A Wrong Turn, a Horse, and a Cabin in the Rain
I drove an hour and a half to Alisa’s place, and we headed for CVG in the late afternoon. An overnight flight to London got us in early the next morning, running on airport coffee and not much sleep.
Across the Street in Donegal
We landed in Dublin with a hotel booked all the way across the country—in Donegal. No car rental, no train tickets. Just a general sense of direction and the quiet confidence that we’d figure it out…
Not Here to Please You
I posted a photograph the other day to the Frames Photography Facebook group: three women, standing in front of the courthouse in Troy, Ohio. They were holding signs. It was quiet, striking, and very human.
That image drew more response than I expected. Not about the composition or the tone, but about what people assumed it meant.
Telling the Story a Little Differently
Lately, I’ve been doing a lot more writing.
I’ve dabbled with blog posts and articles over the years, but it’s always been sporadic—something I returned to when time allowed or when a particular story asked for it. Now, I’m trying to be more deliberate…
Wander Light Is Here — And Here’s What It Really Means
There’s a moment, somewhere in the middle of the road, when you realize you’ve been carrying too much—not just in your bag, but in your life…
Why I Still Travel With One Backpack
I’ve never been interested in packing light just to prove a point. I’m not counting ounces. I’m not trying to win at minimalism. I carry one backpack because it keeps me honest…
Photography as a Way of Noticing
I didn’t start taking photos to be a photographer. I just wanted to see more clearly…
Minimalism in Practice: How to Travel Light and Still Bring Things Home
We travel light. One bag each. No checked luggage if we can help it…
What Travel Taught Me About Freedom
In the culture I grew up in, freedom was often measured by what you could buy, own, or defend. A bigger house, a better job, the right to carry a weapon — these were the symbols of success and autonomy. But the more I traveled, the more those definitions felt hollow.
What’s in My Backpack: A Minimalist Travel Packing List
Minimalism isn’t a look. It’s not about deprivation or discipline. It’s about freedom…
Still Looking
I used to think the best photos came from faraway places.
Morning fog in the Alps. Golden hour in Morocco. Some crumbling archway…
The Soners and the Sultan’s Palace
…a young man stepped out of a shop and asked if we needed help. His name was Soner.