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I’m trying something new this month, an idea sparked by two of my favorite creators here on Substack. I’ve long enjoyed Shital Morjaria’s “Ramblings of a Photographer” series, and after reading Juliette Mansour’s latest post of beautiful and heartfelt short essays, I was finally inspired to start an experiment I’ve been thinking about for a while.

The rules are simple: I set a timer for 10 minutes every day for five days (Monday through Friday) and write until it goes off. No overthinking, just letting thoughts flow (with minor editing afterwards). To go with the writing, I’ve assigned myself to take one new photo each day to capture the mood.

Here is what happened when I let the timer run and brought my camera along during one week of May.

For the first time in months, the grey sky doesn’t bother me. We’ve had beautiful, sunny weather lately, but today the clouds have returned, and I’m okay with it.

I think it’s because the grey actually acts as a canvas, bringing out that bright, fresh spring green. The flowers are blooming everywhere; the colors stand out against the overcast sky. It’s a relief, one that I feel physically and mentally.

This year’s arrival of Spring has had a huge effect on my mental health. The depression I carried through March and April while recovering from the intensity of the ICE surge here in Minnesota seems to have shifted. It’s turned into a body and mind filled with hopeful energy. Honestly, I don’t think the weather has ever affected me in such a dramatic way. I used to not mind the winter or grey days that much, but every year, it’s getting a bit more challenging to cope with the long winters.

I am so thankful to be doing better.

Besides the weather, nothing remarkable has changed. And yet, I continue to walk through the day finding joy in the ordinary - seeking out the extraordinary within the ordinary.

I’ve been enjoying teaching lately. I’d even go as far as to say that I think I’m good at it. I don’t usually talk about myself that way. Isn’t it sad how we tend to talk to ourselves in ways we would never dream of talking to others? It is.

So, acknowledging that I am good at something feels special. It means I am finally saying something to myself that I would easily say to a friend.

By the way, the next time you think something good and beautiful about a person, tell them. We hold back the good way too much. We’re so quick to spew the negative, the annoyances, the flaws. We should be more generous with our compliments.

It could, in all honesty, change someone’s day. It might even be the nudge they need to take a big step in the right direction.

I take it back, the grey sky in May does bother me. Apparently, I have become a sunshine girl. Living in Minnesota does this to you. You become obsessed with the weather because it changes all the time, and somehow it becomes the emotional backdrop to everything else.

It’s already evening and ten minutes is not very long. I just spent a few of them staring out the window wondering whether I had anything worth saying today.

Maybe that is the point of this experiment. Not every day includes a groundbreaking revelation. Most days are occupied with ordinary thoughts like: “What can we have for dinner tonight?”, “I need to call the pharmacy”, “Let me check the calendar for the tenth time”, and “Is it really only Tuesday?”

Something that has been on my mind lately is honesty. I really admire people who are able to acknowledge their mistakes and struggles without defensiveness or shame. That kind of honesty feels increasingly rare but I think it’s our flaws that allow us to truly connect with one another.

I will leave it at that. Good night!

The birds are early risers. I wake up to their cheerful chirping often. This morning, I checked the time, and it was 3:45 a.m.

How can this trilling make you upset, though? It’s honestly one of my favorite sounds. So I lay there and listen.

It sounds like two of them are having a little morning chat back and forth. One of them has a slightly lower pitch. Their back and forth sounds so happy and friendly. They seem excited for the day, and excited to see, or hear, each other.

I have always loved birds. They seem so full of hope, so present, so unhurried and untroubled.

I understand it’s hard to compare our lives to those of birds, but I do think we can learn from them.

Their cheerful greetings, for example. Their presence. I think those are things too often lacking in our hurried lives.

Maybe we should sing more, just like those birds. That is one other thought I have before I drift off to sleep again.

Thursday

Today I am turning a year older. Whenever my birthday comes around, I think of words I read a few years ago by Henri Nouwen and how they changed my view of birthdays, especially my own:

“Birthdays need to be celebrated. I think it is more important to celebrate a birthday than a successful exam, a promotion, or a victory. Because to celebrate a birthday means to say to someone: ‘Thank you for being you.’ Celebrating a birthday is exalting life and being glad for it. On a birthday we do not say: ‘Thanks for what you did, or said, or accomplished.’ No, we say: ‘Thank you for being born and being among us.’
On birthdays we celebrate the present. We do not complain about what happened or speculate about what will happen, but we lift someone up and let everyone say: ‘We love you.’”

What struck me most when I first read those words was the reminder that being born is such a miracle and mystery, and above all, an incredible gift.

We do not always need to hold up our successes and accomplishments in order to be worthy of celebration. We can and should celebrate someone simply for the fact that they exist in our lives.

And that should always, always be enough.

Friday

I love road trips. I actually went on one today: eight hours by myself. A gift to myself to visit an old friend for a long weekend. My favorite part is always listening to music, sometimes very loud, while I let my thoughts wander. Eight hours is a long time to sit with your thoughts, but for the most part, it felt relaxing.

The drive through Wisconsin was beautiful, at least until I hit Chicago traffic, which demands your full attention for a solid two hours. And somehow, no matter how long the drive, the last hour always feels the longest.

Along the way, I saw at least seven dead deer on the side of the road. Is it strange that I had the urge to pull over, surround them with colorful flowers, photograph them, and give them a proper burial?

Being a photographer on a solo road trip is an exercise in letting go. I see images everywhere: birds on wires, birds in flight, fleeting moments that make me want to pull over and stop the car. If I actually did that every time something caught my eye, I probably still wouldn’t have arrived.

But I did arrive.

And now, I’m going to enjoy my weekend.

I hope you enjoy yours, too.

Ten Minutes and One Image

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