I almost always have a camera to hand; quite often, it’s the camera on my phone, but sometimes I dust off the DSLR for something special. It’s not so much about thinking of myself as a photographer. I don’t really have the technical skills to call myself that. But I love to pause when something catches my eye, or to be playful with my camera and phone. One thing I know for sure is that I definitely prefer to be behind the camera.
I take photographs of small things, mostly. Record moments with friends and family. Things that might not look like much to anyone else, but that hold something of the moment for me. Some of the images matter to me because of where I was when I took them. Others because of who I was with. Sometimes it’s both. And sometimes it’s neither; just a quiet acknowledging that something felt worth keeping.
The photo I’m using across this website was taken on a day that didn’t begin quietly. It began with a blood pressure reading of 202/108, a reading that sent me off to the hospital for a day. I spent hours there, the kind of long, suspended time where everything feels a touch unreal. It was there, in that clinical brightness and constant noise, that I first heard the words malignant hypertension. Heavy words; one hell of a diagnosis. Those words landed in my body and didn’t immediately make sense. I have stresses, sure, but I am also good at looking out for my mental health and cutting out the cross-chatter of the world around me. Or so I thought.
After that diagnosis, I didn’t want noise. I didn’t want conversation. I wanted space and air. I had to wait around for blood test results and for my blood pressure to lower some more before they would let me go home, but I was allowed to go for a walk and find some food to eat. So I found my way outdoors, to somewhere familiar enough to feel safe but open enough to breathe. I sat down, boots in the leaves, my eye on the birch log next to me (my picnic table), back against the rhythm of the world rather than the urgency of it. I stayed there for a while, not doing very much. Just noticing what was around me.
The photo I’m using for this website isn’t particularly artistic. There’s no technical brilliance in it. But it is a strong reminder of the need to stop and take stock every once in a while of the little moments; those moments when the sunlight peeks through the trees, when the focus on your boots gives way to a softer focus of trees and a blue sky beyond, of resting for a minute in the maelstrom of a busy or a stressful day. And for that alone, I love this photo.
RootedAndRestless 
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