If I relate to one piece of text, it’s this:
“If we were meant to stay in one place, we’d have roots instead of feet.”
For as long as I can remember, I’ve been making homes in the places I’ve visited. I made a home on Whistler mountain the day it was so foggy the staff told us going to the peak would be useless (it wasn’t). I made a home in the little cave at the water’s edge in Cinque Terre where Alex and I split a bottle of 3 euro white wine. In the quiet forest surrounding Emerald Lake, where we crunched through the snow and stopped to stare at the reflection of mountains in the water. On that cottage dock the summer I went tubing for the first time. In the front of my grandfather’s boat, hair flying around my face. In my uncle’s house in New York state where we filled all the bunkbeds with our young limbs.
That might be one of my favourite things about life. The ability to leave little pieces of our hearts wherever we go, how easy it can be to feel at home in places we’ve just met.
As humans, we’re vulnerable. Things go wrong but it’s beautiful when they go right. We get lost in new cities only to find ourselves in places we feel renewed. We butcher brownies and arrive late to meetings and sometimes say things we shouldn’t.
But all those moments – yes, including the mistakes and the misses – make up our crazy, elaborate, fascinating lives. The in between moments are just as beautiful as the big ones. They’re just as complex and just as important in helping us build the places we call home.
That’s what I love so much about photography. There’s no limit to what we can see through a photograph. There’s no moment that can’t be saved. And being able to capture the little, perfectly imperfect moments in between all the big ones? Well that’s just my cup of tea.