I’ve got a lot more photos from my June road trip to share with you, including these from my time spent at Little Whale Cove. I recently realized, or perhaps remembered again, how seeing the world through the camera lens is a bit like a time machine. It allows me to slow time enough to capture a single moment. It’s magic.
I hope you enjoy these photos. As always, let me know if you have a favorite.
Yesterday, taking advantage of the surprisingly cool weather for this time of year, Superman and I went to the Sacramento Zoo. We saw axolotls, a possum who’d gotten into the red panda enclosure, giraffes, baby flamingos, playful meerkats, a snake undergoing a procedure, and a giant rhinoceros.
It was exactly what I needed. Seeing the world through the eyes of a 6-year-old and my camera lens did wonders for me. Please enjoy these photos and let me know if you have a favorite.
I took these photos at a private cove near my dad’s house in Oregon last month. While I walked around with my camera, my daughter sat in the sand sifting it for agate. It wasn’t the trip I wanted. My dad was sick, ultimately needing to be transported by ambulance to the hospital. My daughter was about to turn 18, and things between us felt different. Everything felt…off.
As I edited these photos today, I felt all of it again. My dad is okay now, but he uses a walker, and the time for us to have the relationship I’ve always wanted is slipping away. My daughter and I are good. We’ve grown in new ways, but I worry about her all the time. I don’t know how to change things. I don’t know how to be right now.
Hard conversations are sitting inside me, and last night I dreamed they suffocated me, and I woke gasping for air. I couldn’t get back to sleep, anxiety eating at me with sharp teeth.
So, I’m going to take a minute and return to the peacefulness of this beautiful place. Will you join me? Let’s look at how light moves through things, reflecting and illuminating. Tell me, do any of these photos speak to you?
This week I was reminded again at how complicated emotions can be, at how we can hold both tremendous grief and overwhelming love in the same breath. It was a week of tragedy, connection, rock camp, fairy doors, bubbles, car talks, and two panic attacks.
Would I argue with the rain or clouds or the ocean itself? I see faces, I see shapes, I see love wanting only to freely bloom. I think I won’t complain.–Neil Reid
I’m still struggling, but I’m finding my way forward. Part of that path involves showing up here with you, even if I have to fight myself to do it.
About a month ago, my daughter and I drove up the coast of California into Oregon and Washington. Although this trip wasn’t what I had hoped, I got some pretty photos. Here are some of the best from day one.
I’d love to know if you have a favorite photo; can you guess mine?
I’m not doing great.
After the tremendous high of self-publishing my book in April, I’ve spiraled into a funk so deep I’m hesitant to even speak about it. I’ve resisted naming it or giving it power, but the truth is as plain as the sweatpants I’ve been wearing for days.
I’m not doing great.
While I can rally when my friends and family need me, it takes everything out of me. My default Pollyanna attitude, always seeing the joy and wonder in everything, is slowly fading away. It’s harder and harder to put a positive spin on things, and as a result, I’m dissociating more and more. I check out for hours and days at a time by playing on my phone or binge watching TV, often doing both at the same time.
The creative spark I had just months ago seems lost.
Yesterday I looked in the mirror and didn’t recognize myself. I’m picking fights with my family, crying easily, and my body hurts all the time. I feel myself stiffening in all ways. It could be stress in my life, the state of the world, perimenopause, or most likely, all of those things combined.
It’s time to seek help. Again.
Sigh.
Why am I telling you all this? Well, I think part of getting through this is going to be recommitting to blogging again. Reaching out to this beautiful community as my whole broken self and saying, hey, I sort of need a hug right now and maybe you do too, so how about we hug each other with words? That sounds weird, but you know what I mean. We aren’t alone. None of us.
So, yeah. I’m here.
How are you? I seriously want to know. Good? Bad? Tired? Energized? Did you get a new dog? Your cat do something funny? What projects are you working on? Tell me all the things.
I might not be doing great, but I’m going to show up. I’ve taken a ton of photos lately and it’s time to edit them and share them with you. Maybe the joy of the tiny details will help me in my recovery, and who knows, maybe you’ll find something about them to love too.
I’ll leave you with this photo my daughter took of me in Washington earlier this month. I remember thinking in a world where an artist creates something this magical, anything is possible. I’m holding onto that feeling, even if it’s tiny.
I hope you are too.
Bridgette Tales 