Manuel & Hannah // Wedding Preview

From the moment Hannah reached out to me about photographing her wedding, I knew it would be epic. There are some people who don’t even have to give the slightest synopsis of something they are going to do, but purely based on their personality, you know they’re going to make it crazy good.

That is Hannah.

Almost three years ago, I met her at a ballroom studio, where I was playing the newbie card and intimidated by 99.9% of the dancers, sequiny costumes, and hips I didn’t even know had that kind of range of motion. Before even experiencing her array of electrifying, cutting edge ballroom choreography and costumes (dancing in the dark with glow in the dark lights, anyone?!) for studio showcases - or her insanely cool, vintage shoe game - her joy, warmth, and kindness are what I experienced first.

I remember we met at a studio dinner, where she sat at my table. A friend and I walked in, trembling in socially anxious fear about where to sit, who we’d talk to (you know, the socially anxious starter pack), and up walked Hannah. She was so enthusiastic and intentional, as though we’d known her for so much longer than just that day. I remember telling my friend what a relief it was talking to her.

If I could sum up Hannah in one quote, it would be,

“Though she be but little she is fierce.” (A Midsummer Night’s Dream)

If you have ever seen her stage performances, you’ll know exactly what I mean. I don’t think she is afraid to try anything new, and I told her she reminds me of a Christian Lady Gaga.

Hannah and her fiancé, Manuel, met me for coffee back in the springtime. I always love hearing each couple’s story, who chased who, stark contrasts, moment “they knew”, and of course, a brief vision of their wedding day.

I learned that Manuel did parkour, Hannah used to play the harp, they planned a high church ceremony, and a dance party kind of reception. Manuel shared the same contagious joy as Hannah, and I knew from our first conversation that their wedding was going to be super fun.

And it was exactly just that.

There was a harpist. There was singing. One of my favorite moments was how Manuel looked at Hannah, held her hand, and beamed as he sang with everyone during a ceremony hymn. When he smiles, his entire face lights up. He wears joy. It was like seeing someone gaze upon a beautiful, mesmerizing piece of art; Hannah being the real life version of that. Their steadfastness in faith and closeness to God is something almost palpable. There were so many sacred moments in their ceremony.

And then there was the reception.

There was an ice cream bar instead of traditional cake cutting. The couple’s dance was like bachata and rhumba and waltz, if they all had a baby. Apparently half the attendance could do back flips, improv dancing, break dancing, and there was literally a rapper at one point. I don’t think I have ever seen people dance so hard in my life.

I’ve photographed many weddings. But, I’ve never photographed a wedding, where amidst a torrential downpour and literal mudslide under the reception tent (we’re talking to levels of plywood being set atop to create a walkway, kind of mudslide), the vibes were so strong that the downpour didn’t even matter. For most wedding parties, storm clouds and even a droplet of rain is a nightmare…not for Manuel and Hannah though.

It was awesome.

My favorite part of the day, however, was when Hannah’s father motioned for me to follow him outside the reception tent. There in a circle - rain, mud, wet grass, insane humidity, and all - Manuel and Hannah were dancing with their friends. Her dress got soaked, shoes stained, hair drenched, but she could have cared less. That’s my kind of crowd, right there.

Manuel & Hannah - thank you for inviting me to be part of your beautiful wedding. Enjoy this preview of your day!

Blake & Jayne // Woodland Wedding Preview

Last year, I officially decided to retire my wedding collections. I reflected on the last twelve years of photographing weddings - the first second shooting as a newbie 15 year old, who couldn’t even drive yet - with so much gratitude. I also knew in my heart that it was time to no longer take wedding inquiries, as I shifted to lifestyle/editorial work.

That is, until the spunky, red headed, modern day, eclectic Elizabeth Bennett (or Jane Eyre or Anne with an “E”), Jayne, got a big question and a ring on her finger. I’d already turned down weddings for the remainder of 2024, but you see, I took her senior portraits four years ago, so my gut instinct was,

“I have no idea what this wedding will entail, but it’s Jayne, so it’s an automatic ‘Yes’.”

Jayne reminds me of a book character. I think if I could blend two people, she’d be Max from Stranger Things and Rapunzel from Tangled. Oh, and some sort of ethereal, elvish, woodland creature. Anyway. She is an artist, soulfully deep thinker, could probably live outside or in a yurt or the Amazon rainforest barefoot, and be totally fine. She has this ease, calmness, and introspection about her; yet healthy dose of untamed, feisty audaciousness, and wickedly good sense of humor.

Even still, I initially texted back that I’d retired my wedding collections (Insert reasons x, y, and z), but was curious what their day would look like. I also was super curious about this boyfriend turned fiancé of hers, because if he was dating Jayne, he had to be pretty dang cool too.

Turns out? My instincts were spot on!

Upon hearing that it would be a small, intimate mountain wedding, “Capture the flag” was possibly on the books post ceremony, and knowing Jayne’s personality (the kind of bride who would probably go Earthing and find a lizard or snake as a friend in the woods), I enthusiastically agreed.

And let me tell you, this wedding did not disappoint.

There’s not really a right or wrong way to do weddings. I unsolicitedly always preached to my previous wedding couples that at the end of the day, cake topper missing, snag in the dress, or a little snafu in the day…as long as they felt relaxed and enjoyed the day and were married…that is what mattered most.

As soon as I trekked down the long, middle of nowheresville, dirt and gravel driveway to Blake & Jayne’s bachelor/bachelorette wedding cabin and stepped inside, I knew it was going to be a good day. It had literally down poured and stormed all week long, but that day the sun peeked out, clouds parted, and among what I call the “magnificent chaos” of all weddings, there was still a sense of ease and joy.

I walked down to the groomsmen’s man cave (complete with a pool table and chess), and was so pumped when I saw their array of colorful attire. I felt like I was in a 1970s version of an enchanted forest, but mostly, just really down to earth, good company.

“So, what inspired the wardrobe vibes?!” I asked.

“‘Fantastic Mr. Fox’!”

That’s when I officially knew I was with the right crowd. Blake and Jayne met at Appalachian State, where they both recently graduated as majors in Physics. I’ve always known Jayne as an artist (seriously, this woman can paint, draw, sketch, and create anything and it’s absolutely amazing), so I was curious as to how she and Blake first connected. I remember it was something along the lines of,

“Well, we were outside looking at the stars, and then had this really deep conversation about time and space…”

Blake & Jayne - forgive me if I am contextually butchering this part. Nonetheless, I loved the fact that they bonded over really soulful conversation. They each share the deepest, most beautiful Faith to top it, and overhearing everyone’s conversations and seeing their personal touches on the day (including but not limiting to a wizard bringing forth the rings) was pure gold.

I jokingly said I felt like I was in a room full of philosophers and poets. I am convinced every person who spoke was also a naturally born, public speaker. I was waiting for Sylvia Plath or Plato to pop out at any moment. It was awesome.

Blake & Jayne - it truly was a delight to spend the day with you, and I hope you enjoy this reflection/preview of your beautiful day!

Want to book with me? Click here!

Elm Street Run

Running events - and especially road races - always have this certain hype to them. I hate to say it, but: “If you know, you know.” Even if you have to wakeup at some insane hour of the morning (3:30 AM wakeup call just to eat oatmeal 90 min before a marathon, anyone?), just to pound out a unit of measurement, there’s this very specific feeling when you arrive.

It’s kind of a circus. It’s this controlled combination of pinning bib #s just right, sucking down some disgusting energy gel in one’s preferred flavor and praying you don’t shmizz your pants mid run, that weird race day smell of sunblock/anti chafe cream, people doing their pre-race ritual of dynamic stretches and strides and changing from sweats or leggings to itty bitty shorts, and sea of multi-colored compression socks, booty shorts, warmup shoes, race shoes, recovery shoes, compression shorts, and tattoos you had absolutely no idea someone had until they have on their racerback singlet or 2” split seam Nikes.

Usually, I’m inwardly trembling, nervous talk, nervous sweat, think my bowels actually might prolapse, convince myself it’s a life or death situation, and get in line for the porta-jon, even though I used it 3x in the last 10 minutes. But dang, that one whopping sip of comfort water I didn’t actually need, and sound of those plastic doors thumping kind of makes me have an existential crisis for a hot minute.

It’s a thing. Anyway.

I notice there are typically three categories of race day people

1. The happy go lucky folks, who definitely wore something new on race day, but could care less and might possibly have on a tutu and rock it with absolute confidence and see this as just one gigantic runner party.

2. The really serious, laser focused people doing a really serious, laser focused warmup/pre race ritual/some sort of vicious dynamic stretching all the way to the Start line, prepare for spandex ridden war, and kind of look like they could come at you with a pitchfork, eat you, or trample you down. It’s inspiring and also terrifying. They’re kind of like creatures from the jungle, and they’re out for amicable blood.

And yes - I absolutely cower in fear, but especially if they’re in running underwear and their last name is printed on their bib #.

3. The zen, chillax, mellow runners who have been doing this 20, 30, 40+ years and just roll with the punches. These are the people I would pay to read some sort of cozy mantra, reassure that it’s not in fact a life or death situation, and you’re actually allowed to have fun and, you know, enjoy everything.

But, those are “most” road races.

High Point Athletic Club (also known as “HPAC”) brought a different kind of energy. These guys are something else. As a recovering anxiety ridden snowflake, I can attest that they make running as familial and welcoming as it gets. They have runners of all ages, paces, personalities, goal types, walks of life, and there is none of the gross “hierarchy” nonsense that can be prevalent in sports. HPAC is like this big, happy family that sees the best, the potential, and the beauty in everyone. The team wardrobe colors are a good punch of orange and blue, and I saw a sea of orange and blue not just racing, but coming together, volunteering hours of their time, and making an absolutely joyful event come together. If I could describe Elm Street Run, it would be “palpably joyful”. They really should get a bus or creeper Vanagon and do a world tour.

I swear I wasn’t paid to say this. Want to know a secret?

I used to be terrified of running with HPAC. No; I’m dead serious. I was so nervous to run with these people and so intimidated - you know, with runners who knew what they were doing and already knew each other (gasp) - that I literally drove up to their group run one morning, almost turned into the parking lot…

And then drove away and texted a friend that I couldn’t do it and felt like coward. How’s that for a brutally honest sentiment?

Three years ago, I actually photographed some of HPAC before I dared to put my life out on the line by showing up to a 7am group run.

Turns out? They didn’t bite and were actually super welcoming and supportive! Who would have thought?!

So, to the runner who feels “not enough” of something, or can’t even fathom the idea of calling themself a “runner” :

1. That is totally normal and you’re not alone.

2. There is always a seat at the table…er…extra set of feet to run alongside. Always. Or support from this sea of orange and blue from afar!

Brandon Hudgins, one of the OG founders and now run shepherd over HPAC (our light, our guide, our teacher #Namaste), became my run coach when I returned home from Los Angeles in 2020. I also was super intimidated by him.

And it also turns out that he wasn’t scary…just like the rest of HPAC! You can find him, among the magnificent chaos of everything else he has to oversee for his athlete tribe on race day, yell cheering for every single HPAC runner, likely get a video of your salt crusted, sweaty, grueling Finish of victory or death march, even if it means 40+ runners, all with different paces and times.

All of that to say - and not to sound all woodstocky, but:

The community, the vibrancy, the grit, the tenacity, the constant support, and the palpable joy of this group - this entire race - made my soul feel so alive. I love running, and I also love photographing the art of running. People don’t realize how amazingly fascinating they are just by existing. Even if they’re not out on the course, getting down and dirty in their sexy $300 race shoes, I find people and strangers so beautiful, so fascinating, so interesting…just by existing.

At the end of the day, amazing race, first ever race, or crap race, you being you is enough and there is nothing to prove. With that novella of a post, I hope you too find beauty and awe from Elm Street Run, 2025. Godspeed, friends!

(Want to work together? Click here!)

2024 In Photos: Beautifully Gutted

If I could describe this year in two words, it would be,

“Beautifully gutting”

I’ve lost a lot of things, left a lot of things, and learned a lot of things. Ideals and reality are interesting neighbors. It’s been incredible, eyeopening, healing, refining, and some pursuits I dropped a decade ago fell into my lap seemingly overnight. It’s also been stressful, horrendous, heartbreaking, and graced with a pile of medical debt, questions, wandering, wondering, frustrated journal words chicken scratched onto journal pages, and sometimes, no words to express at all. God has felt like a distant concept whose phone always goes to voicemail at some points. And other times, I’ve experienced Him in such profoundly fascinating ways that logic and science feel defied.

Life has felt hellish and life has felt Sacred. Life has been and is very “Ecclesiastes”.

It’s funny how you assume your life will look a certain way and feel a certain way, and everything is romanticized when things feel ambitious and good. Reality has a painfully strange way of putting things in perspective. It can feel quite cruel when you’re floating in the clouds and suddenly, just like that, it’s as if a pair of cold hands yank your ankles back down to a cold, hard floor.

Yet, the darkness is where beauty is often born. I joke that my best writings and artistic pursuits are when my mental health plummets and dead philosophers feel like my best friends. That’s when people love me most. They see this pretty, shiny thing and creation, but not the prelude of inner wounds, existential crisis, clumps of hair on the carpet from stress, and ugliest, unfiltered, unattractive version of oneself.

I took an afternoon walk to an art gallery downtown one day, and connected with the kindest painter. As I admired her wall of paintings, the colors so profound, it was like staring into a dream, she said something that resonated. She spoke quietly and looked to the side, almost holding back tears,

“People come in, look at my paintings, talk about how beautiful they are, buy the most beautiful piece, and walk out with it. What they don’t know is the amount of pain that went into creating what they see as so beautiful.”

Seeing beauty in the connectedness and humanness of others through my lens feels much the same. Art is a lifeline. Truthfully, I still feel like I’m processing 2024. Reflecting on all its images, be it my less than mediocre iPhone snaps or professional images, makes me nostalgic.

I ran a marathon, co-hosted a podcast, lived by myself for a year, visited Central America, began Russian language learning, hosted a language exchange partner I’d only known a month prior, acted in a short film, watched said short film on the cinematic big screen for the first ever time, participated in an Argentine Tango event, deleted my social media for seven months, had an existential crisis (kinda), quit drinking alcohol, quit drinking caffeine, rehabbed a gnarly run injury (surely not from running a marathon two weeks after running a marathon), learned to savor road biking (almost) as much as running, threw myself into the arts scene with the same ambition as I did as a seventeen year old, and just returned from the most magical NYE wedding of a teenage blogger friend, turned real life soul sister.

And that’s just the tip of the iceberg. That’s not even the front page of the good, the bad, the ugly. It feels like reliving a season in a weird sort of way. But, my cup runneth over.

Photographically, I shot my last wedding before retiring my collections (bittersweet!), transitioned to lifestyle/editorial work, still have a crush on black & white, and just signed with an amazing Triad photographer as part of his team. I am still banking on him booking an elopement or wedding in Europe or Southeast Asia.

NYE wedding cheers

2024 in phone snaps

As this year comes to a close and a new one begins, I want to be as healthy as possible (physically, spiritually, mentally). I want to write more, read more, create more, collaborate more. I want to visit Southeast Asia and its beautiful culture and reconnect with my foreign friends across the Atlantic. I want to continue breaking limiting beliefs and old, unnecessary patterns. I want to master Argentine Tango. So maybe, I should visit Buenos Aires too.

I want to shoot film more than digital. I want to be less facaded and more authentic, even if it means people dislike my true voice, values, what I have to say, what I create. I want to savor the present and love what’s right in front of me, who is right in front of me, what’s already been given to me, and not wish away anything…even the pain within a challenge. I want to push societal boundaries, status quo, cultural norms, and be braver. I want to be soft and strong.

I want to go against the grain, yet still find inner peace when I am disliked, unvalidated (Biggest life lesson of 2024: Validation is an inward self trust and insatiable void finding it elsewhere), or my values, moral compass, and opinions are disapproved of by other subjective opinions (Biggest life lesson of 2024 pt. ii: Everyone’s thoughts are their own, subjective experience and do not automatically equate to the truth of you.) I want to exist in Love and understand God more. I don’t want to be a coward. I don’t want to live on autopilot.

And I want to push the boundaries in art as much as possible.

Photography is my “Broken Hallelujah,”

…Or at least, one form of it. I hope you enjoy some of the lovely faces, happenings, and emotions from this year. May beauty, bravery, and freedom find you in 2025.

Sacred Spaces

Nobiscum Deus.

Dans tout Paris

…Je m'abandonne et je m'envole.

I’ve decided that in two years, if I am still alive, my life doesn’t shape up how I hope, or I am just coasting, I’m going to move to France. Right now though, my artistic life has presented opportunities I feel I need to stay (in America) and keep refining. Some might call it escapism or impulsive, but this is no new idea. Packing my life in a few bags is also nothing new. Just months after returning from my cultural exchange in Russia and Turkey, I almost moved to Paris. I hadn’t even visited yet, but I felt a romanticized pull to this foreign place of love, art, and beauty. I interviewed, had a second lined up, and mere paperwork to fill out before securing a placement. But that still, small voice in my head suggested,

“Maybe wait. Maybe pursue what’s right in front of you. Maybe don’t run away yet.”

France was one of those places I longed to visit, a farsickness (or “Fernweh”) that seemed to call with no words at all. 2020 happened, the world shut down, and my heart felt bleaker than the leafless trees and grey, winter skies. One day, I wandered into a New York & Company going out of business. I’ll never forget the moment I spied a glorious dress in its clearance section. I picked it up. I had nothing of importance or real use for this abstract dress, yet I tried it on.

“One day, I will wear this in Paris.”

I tucked it away in my closet. With it, I tucked away my dreams, my farsickness, my visions of a country I’d never met. When life leaves my heart broken, I find that clinging to a romanticized idea - something of beauty to long for - gives the leafless boughs of my heart room to anticipate something lovelier. It’s like a silent trajectory of finding hope for something beautiful, even when it feels so far away.

Often times, I’ll idealize a situation or place and it will fall painfully short of my expectations. My mind will create something of grandeur, and I will vividly picture how it will look, what will happen, and most of all, how I will feel. Most of the time, the fantasy world in my head falls short of reality.

France surpassed my expectations.

I spent the first week with my beloved Argentine Tango teachers in Tours. I was introduced to authentic, french cuisine, walking streets, trains to old castles, Argentine Tango workshops, and a slow pace of life that encouraged the art of savoring, rather than rushing. I will never forget practicing in their living room floor in socks before my first Milonga, or hopping in a car with their french friends - strangers to me - and taking off to the middle of nowheresville, countryside of France for dancing. The second week, I trained to Paris and spent it with a long lost friend from a decade ago. We urban hiked, stayed out until 1am almost every night because sunset isn’t until 11pm, found West Coast Swing in an underground social dancing club, cried taking portraits of each other, wore black dresses for the occasion, and spent a day with a distant cousin I’d only known as a digital penpal…who of course happened to also be an artist and photographer, also related to my great-grandmother, who is the face of my business card.

I decided the beautiful Frenchmen and waiters in button down shirts were definitely my type. A year and a half later, it is still hard to find words to encompass such a vibrant place. I love how art and music is integrated into society. In America, the arts have adopted an elitist mentality. It’s designated to Hollywood and stages and screens and museums and expensive tickets. It is all about the ego and self gains.

In Europe, it is an integral part of society. Music floods the cobblestone streets, the corners, the alleyways. One moment, teenagers read books and play games on the grass, and one street over, there’s a crowd social dancing. History and architecture is preserved and beauty is celebrated. Musicians traipse the metros and city streets. Cafe chairs face the streets, suggesting that you look out, admire, and appreciate. An opera singer locks eyes with you at the Louvre and sings to you, as if it’s a sacred gift.

                                                                                           Photos courtesy of Erin Kass

a) Elopement

b) Extremely handsome waiter met on street

I will never forget how I felt in France.

It was as if it breathed life into my soul and traded scraggly clothes for a ballgown. If a European city could tell you that you are beautiful with a bare face, au natural is normal, Amazon prime evening gloves “just because” is acceptable, and no man is required to feel really, truly, deeply loved…that is Paris.

Makeup is not required, bodies and BMI are not overly glorified, bras are optional, baguettes are not just a cliche, and beauty goes beyond surface level.

Parisians handle the ebb and flow of life like champs. One minute, there’s a gas explosion, and an hour later there’s a music festival. One night, there’s riots and protests, and the next morning, there’s a roller derby parade on one street and social dancing on another.

In Paris, you’ll actually sit to drink your coffee because to go cups do not exist. You’ll have pre-cocktail cocktails, eat dinner at 10pm, followed by more cocktails. You’ll go by foot everywhere, convince yourself you can step no further, only to suddenly be in the arms of strangers for three hours of Argentine Tango or West Coast Swing.

There’s something about walking into a ballroom, hundreds of sweaty Europeans of all ages, no air conditioning, a foreign language, the strongest body odor imaginable, that makes you feel so beautifully human.

You’ll be thousands of miles from home, and you will feel so “at home” with the way of the Parisians.

Je remue le ciel, le jour, la nuit. Je danse avec le vent, la pluie.

Un peu d'amour, un brin de miel et je danse…

Drowning In My Questions [Self Portrait Narrative]

2/11/22

I went to bed last night and had this vision of a house filled with water. The concept of drowning is interesting to me. Actually, a lot of physical concepts interest me, because I now know they can be just as metaphorical and emotional as they are literal.

It might seem kind of silly at first glance, but I think that we can be in the comfort of one's own home, surroundings, and environment, yet still feel like we're drowning. 

Maybe it's in heartbreak. Maybe it's in debt. Maybe it's in motherhood. Maybe it's in divorce. Maybe it's drowning in questions.

We can move from place to place, ease into brand new or familiar territory, run from our problems, run from here to there, stay busy, stay occupied, even stay home...but who we are on the inside can still be the same. And who we are on the inside will follow. Our grief, our despair, our questions, our "inner demons". 

Lately, there's been one question I've asked God over and over:

Why?

"I looked to You, drowning in my questions." 

Tonight is one of those nights where I don't have the answers. Many of us are in that tender, restless spot. But even when it feels like drowning...keep looking up.

Film Premieres, Language Exchange Partners & Reckless Ballroom Dreams

What a strange year it’s been. I am learning more and more that conflicting emotions and seasons of being and ideas can also be simultaneous. I can feel peace among chaos, be stressed to the max yet grateful, laugh on the outside while crying on the inside, immensely dislike aspects of people or politics or opinions, yet still deeply love the people and find truths in each side of the spectrum. My prayer life and experience of God has felt surreal too, and especially in my thought life and dreams. There were some situations that left me feeling quite gutted this year, and He has felt distant at many points, yet closer than ever at others. It’s like I’ve known he is there, but he feels far and I have felt at a loss for words. Somedays, all I can muster is, there is nothing left in me. I feel like nothing. I feel depleted. I feel empty. I feel lost.

Yet, I feel found.

So very found.

Between a fall of ballroom dancing and tango-ing, a wedding, music, a new job, a short film premiere, an online language exchange partner turned real life friend (Я люблю тебя, русская сестра!), a medical issue that I saw as a curse and now strangely a blessing…it’s been quite a journey.

I haven’t had a sip of alcohol in six months, stowed away my run shoes the last week, quit drinking caffeine in September, made (and am still making;)) some ballsy moves in my artistic life, and of course, chronically overthinking life, wrestling some “voices” in my head, and the constant ebb and flow of the high and low of life.

When the appropriate time comes, I will write more. It feels strange and almost wrong to write such a short, scattered post. Words are to me like keys are to a frustrated piano player seeking to decompress and make sense of life. I’m learning (and tonight, apparently practicing) that I don’t have to always go at everything so intensely and pour out everything in me. Rest is literally a lifeline; a safe haven and sacred escape from a world that demands us to never be powered off. Perhaps this is why God’s voice can often feel so muddled.

For now, here is but a small glimpse of some happenings the last four months.

My heart is heavy.

Yet, my cup runneth over.

Inner gold for Argentine Tango.  

First time seeing myself on a big screen for a short film premiere. Thank you, Ben Elias! 

Language learning. 

Ballroom dancing hangover. 

Random things I’m loving:

-Be Thou My Vision in the style of Audrey Assad

-Mind Over Matter

-Gold flakes (clearly)

-People watching at coffee shops

-Dr. Gabor Maté’s teachings and compassion towards humanity

-Reading rap like poetry

-Funnyface

-The slow pace of afternoon walks on the greenway

-Dénes Szabó

-Impressionist paintings at Ambleside Gallery

-Decaf coffee on a cold morning

-The way bitterly cold, sharp November air cuts at your skin…

Yet makes you hyperaware of your aliveness.

Lauren & Her Twins: New Life [Preview]

This year has been a strange one. Life is fascinating in that it can present with the most unexpected, gut wrenching of situations, yet a simultaneous peace among it all. Ecclesiastes is one of my favorite books in that it is so beautifully, poetically, and authentically describes the idea that life is bleak and dark…and life is also a sacred, beautiful gift.

Photography is a (literal) lens to that very concept. My heart and mind have been in a strange place lately, as I’ve dealt with a so many unknowns of life. Photography forces me to pause and seek beauty. I especially love documenting the connection and day to day life of families. The moments frozen in a nanosecond of time is captivating, and the innocence and purity of children at play is like balm to my soul. I think children are absolutely brilliant. They are geniuses in tiny bodies and I think we can learn just as much - if not more - from them as we can our teachers, our elders, our societally dubbed idea of “intelligence”. This is why I am drawn to lifestyle and in home sessions nowadays. People are so fascinating just by existing. There is nothing to prove, pose, stage, or some magical moment to construct and create. People are so fascinating, so stunning, so mesmerizing because they are alive. They need not do more, be more, or prove more.

Lauren & Kevin’s family are always a delight. This lifestyle session with her gorgeous twins was a gift. If you know me well, you know that twins have an extremely close place to my heart. Initially, I was supposed to photograph the birth of these sweet babes. Unfortunately, reality had some other plans and that did not work out. I was touched when, nearly nine months ago, Lauren reached out and asked if I would be there to document such a special moment. I’ve had the joy of photographing one birth, and it was one of the most powerful experiences of my life. Even though the birth of Lauren’s twins did not happen as anticipated, I was thrilled when she invited me to her home to capture their first couple weeks as living, breathing, teeny little human beings.

As I edit and look through these images, I find myself a bit emotional. Not only does Lauren wear motherhood so beautifully by the joy of her heart, but her newborn twins are the sweetest reminder of new life.

Welcome to the world, little loves.

FD Company: Winter Wardrobe Preview

This week marks 5 months of “digital abstinence” from social media. It’s been quite enjoyable - even therapeutic - to write and create galleries on this blog of mine, rather than quick blurbs on social media. It’s felt intentional and forced my fast paced brain to slow down. Words are my love language too. Here, I can share as many words and paragraphs and photographs as my heart desires. It isn’t trapped in the confines of social media’s quick fix. My life feels much more private now, which is both a strange and liberating feeling. I’ve liked it. I’ve also felt more creatively challenged than ever before.

Photographing movement makes my soul feel on fire. There is something so gritty and beautiful about watching people in the grit of their sport. I was delighted when Lena of Family Dance Company (FD) asked me to photograph her winter collection. I have had the pleasure of knowing Lena and her family the last two years. We first met at a ballroom studio in Greensboro, NC, where she and her husband became my teachers, after I took nearly a decade hiatus from the performing arts. It was both exhilarating and terrifying. They are some of the loveliest people to know and I am grateful for them. Lena is a fiery and fierce woman with the softest heart. I think her sixth sense is seeing into people’s soul and understanding exactly what life is like in your shoes. As Jo from Funnyface would say,

“That’s empathy!”

She reminds me of a Ukrainian Jennifer Lopez and is the epitome of “Soft and strong” all in one. She’s a wife, mother of three beautiful girls, and a force to be reckoned with on the dance floor.

Two years ago, my heart found refuge from the chaos of my personal life at their studio, as they and several other families found refuge in us from the war. It felt like a hiding place of sorts. It felt like balm to my soul to be surrounded by so many beautiful, slavic accents. I’d recently returned from a cultural exchange in Russia, just before the war, and struggled with reverse culture shock. I missed the slavic culture, rhythm of life, but especially my beloved language teachers turned sisterhood, and my roommates. It was an indescribable connection and bond that ended too soon. Returning home to the USA, I felt so lost. I felt disconnected. I felt sad. Suddenly, a little studio in Greensboro brought such a beautiful culture to my hometown. It brought a peculiar solace to the chapter of life I deeply missed. It felt like I was somehow there again, while also being home. Was this a dream?

I was fascinated by all these gorgeous Ukrainian people. Anthropology is a great love of mine and can be a dangerous pair with my chronic inquisitiveness. The Ukrainians were different from most people I encountered. I think that’s why I was smitten with Lena’s designs before I even knew she was a designer. Among a room full of bright colors, flashy designs, sequins, and shiny things, my eyes migrated to a simple, black dress on the hanger. It looked like something a mid 20th century star would wear. It was classy and mesmerizing to my nostalgic palette. I saw an “FD” logo on it. It just felt different from everything else.

One day, I was given a stash of them to try on. Out of all the colors, strings, and feathers on the rack, I was instantly drawn to another black dress for smooth dancing. On it, there was also an “FD” logo.

“That’s my dress!” Lena said, as I pointed to it.

At first, I thought she meant it was quite literally one she owned and was just renting out. I soon learned she was the mastermind behind the dress and entire company itself. I love the nostalgic yet eclectic punch to her designs. They feel timeless, elegant, and fierce, but don’t scream for attention. They remind me of a woman who simply exists in confidence and doesn’t have to prove it. She doesn’t puff up or shrink down. She just exists in who she is. FD Company designs have this way of saying, “I am here,” without any words at all. It was a joy to photograph her winter collection, featuring one of her three beauties, Liza.

Cutting My Teeth On Your Hoodie Strings

Self portrait narrative // Created & written April, 2022

How many times do we hang onto something that feels normal, but actually is sabotaging comfort?

How many times do we migrate to the things that feel like a security blanket, but razor blade us to bleed every time?

How many times do we convince ourselves we need something...

…Even when it hurts?

I ask myself these questions often.

"Hoodie" by Hey Violet has been stuck in my head. It's about a girl who self confessedly wears an ex's hoodie, sleeps in it, and still chews on the strings, all because it is a reminder of them...

…Even though it hurts.

It's funny, because although this exact scenario is not my story, I was hooked by the kind of humorous honesty of the lyrics.

So, while it may look like a kooky girl w/string in her mouth...to me, this is the addiction of pain, the sabotaging comfort of things - whether people, substances, relationships, habits - that should be given up.

It is something that feels so familiar...

…Yet prolongs the bleeding the longer you chew on it.

The Painted Piano Festival

Beauty is fascinating, in that it is sometimes hidden and tucked away in places we least expect it. In our modern society of art museums, prestigious films, digital editing, and a new era of social media “content creation” and filters, we can be mistaken that beauty exists in only certain capacities. It’s easy to overlook what’s right in front of us. Sometimes beauty is found in the grandeur: The exotic vacation, expensive travel, elitist art gallery, or cinema screen. Sometimes, beauty is created by us. Sometimes, we are the ones to see what something could be and cultivate beauty around its potential, no matter the location or infrastructure or initial judgements.

Thomasville, North Carolina, once a proud hub of the furniture industry, is often a book misjudged by its cover. At first glance, you would see a small town, abandoned furniture plants graced in kudzu and rust, buildings that have certainly seen their days, historic neighborhoods and streets that have also clearly seen their prime, and just enough stores, cafes, and local coffee shops to sustain the locals. Everybody knows everybody (and if they don’t know you, you’re likely 10th cousins or have at least 10 mutual friends), and it’s easy to pass through and merely see something that once was. Many would even call it an “Eyesore”.

Stay a little longer, and you just might discover something different. Take a stroll downtown, peruse the antique store, record store, all American made goods at BL Maker’s Market, kick back in Nature’s Cottage - the town’s very own organic, green spa - as you realize you’re actually in an early 20th century theater, enjoy southern hospitality as the waitresses not only serve you up a cup of sugary sweet tea, but also call you sugary sweet affections of “Honey” or “Baby” or “Sweetie”, and it’s totally platonic. As you walk downtown, take an extra good look at the storefronts.

You’ll notice an array of painted pianos.

I first noticed them about a year ago. I was marathon training and looped a long run downtown before dawn. It was dark, the streets were silent, and it was just the starry sky and me. That is, until I heard something in the distance. I heard what sounded like someone playing a piano. I took out my earbuds and listened. It wasn’t just a few plunked keys. It was something of absolute beauty. As I ran closer to the sound, there sat a homeless man in tattered clothing, completely engrossed in a festively painted piano. It felt like time stood still. As I ran by, I told him his music was beautiful and to keep playing. And that, he did. It was an unexpected gift and perfect soundtrack to a grueling 18 mile run. It was like life was breathed into an old town. As an artist, I absolutely loved the idea that someone thought to place a bunch of eclectic pianos at the storefronts downtown. Who would think to do this though? And why? This definitely piqued my curiosity. Almost a year later, I unexpectedly met the face behind it all.

That face was Priscilla Oldaker.

She is a singer, piano teacher, performer, and arts lover. We met by happenstance, but looking back, it felt like it was meant to be. In June, I sat outside The Blend Coffee Shop (also known as my digital “office”), writing a blog and editing photos. A fellow coffee shop regular joined me outside and we talked for a moment. Priscilla happened to be leaving, and overheard me speak of my writing and photography. She introduced herself and we connected instantaneously over music, art, writing, and the fact that we were both old souls. There was a warmth, classiness, and enthusiasm about her that I really loved. She shared about this upcoming festival downtown, featuring all the painted pianos in Thomasville. It was that moment I learned she was the mastermind behind the beauty I heard nearly a year ago during my run. Indeed, it is what we now know as the annual:

Painted Piano Festival.

My heart was warmed by the idea that someone desired to bring life and beauty to our sweet, small town. I’ve lived all over, traveled all over, seen gloriousness from the grandeur of Montanan mountaintops to European cathedrals, yet my heart remains fond of my hometown, Thomasville. It is forever my safe place, refuge, and place that, to me, has a beauty and lovely potential of its own. I was thrilled to meet someone like Priscilla, who echoed these same thoughts.

Born in Ohio, she grew up in a family that could be considered the American version of the Von Trapps. After their farm was tended to and supper was finished, her family would read the Bible, pray, and sing together. Priscilla’s mother was compared to Swedish opera singer, Jenny Lind, and the family would often travel on weekends and sing.

When her son was born, she wanted him to also experience the gift of music and learn the piano. Finances were tight as a young family though, so Priscilla (quite literally) took matters into her own hands. She taught him herself. Thus began her joy in teaching piano, which she has done for 24 years now. That joy has now turned into an annual street phenomenon, now known as the Painted Piano Festival.

“Several years ago, we visited a town that had some pianos out on the street that were beautifully painted. My daughter spent the afternoon playing them. It was just a magical afternoon. I really wanted to do this in Thomasville,” she said.

Priscilla’s vision resonated all over the community. Numerous people reached out to her, offering to donate pianos for the town’s project. Because of their generosity, the annual festival and music downtown is alive. Downtown Thomasville’s street closes, turning an old town into a mesmerizing world of local artists and food vendors, live painting, Disney princesses, lineup of late Miss Thomasvilles, complete in their tiaras, vocalists, and of course, piano players. Each year there is to be a theme, and 2024 was coined as the year of the Voice. It reminded me of my time in Europe, where the arts and street performers are integrated as part of the culture. For a few hours, Thomasville became just that. It traded its worn out clothes for a ballgown and became a magical world of its own. It just needed someone to see what it could be; dig up its hidden beauty.

And as Fyodor Dostoevsky, one of my favorite authors, was quoted in Italy,

“Beauty will save the world.”

Wade & Elizabeth: Wedding Preview [Greensboro, NC Photographer]

As Elizabeth’s day unfolded, I found myself caught in so many flashbacks. It all felt really sentimental. Not only was her wedding my last after twelve years of photographing them, but I have known her and her family since I was in 2nd grade. I literally remember playing Barbies with Elizabeth and going to a baby doll themed birthday party when she was a teeny little girl. Both her parents were teachers of mine in elementary and high-school, and Elizabeth and her younger sister were one of my first ever photo shoots. I was fifteen years old, novice, and barely had any experience. I photographed with an entry level DSLR that was bought from every nickel and dime saved from babysitting. In that shoot, she and her little sister wore dresses they’d worn for a wedding as bridesmaid and flower girl. And now, here we were, a leap in time.

Elizabeth was suddenly the bride in front of my lens.

Time definitely stood still for many moments. It was like this full, glorious circle right before my eyes. I had no doubt Wade and Elizabeth’s wedding would be joyous. On a stupidly windy November evening, we froze our tushes off under a gloomy sky, cold air, and captured their engagement photos. The weather wasn’t exactly what I’d call “miserable”, but it certainly wasn’t pleasant. Elizabeth’s nose was red, my fingers were numb, but their dry humor, acceptance of my dirty jokes, and good spirits made it an absolute blast. I knew their wedding day would echo the same things.

And so it did. Their ceremony was held in Elizabeth’s home church, surrounded by close friends and loved ones. They read handwritten vows to each other, as they shared a private moment before the day unfolded. Elizabeth’s smile is like pure, authentic giddiness and joy blended together. I love it. Her connection with Wade magnified it, and especially in their moments alone. I don’t think I have ever witnessed a reception where the party stayed partying the entire time. It was like two solid hours of Wade and Elizabeth encircled by glow sticks, perfectly buzzed guests, and nonstop dancing. It was fantastic. The only way I can describe it was like this hype, joyous circle of absolute love, high energy, and scream singing. They definitely brought the house (or barn;)) down.

Wade & Elizabeth, it was a delight to spend the day “freezing time” on you. May your days ahead be blessed and may your love only grow stronger (and, you know, spicier)(all the one flesh vibes, baby!). Enjoy a glimpse of your beautiful day!

xo

Lily Elif - Wild & Free [Greensboro, NC Photographer]

My alarm buzzed at 4:00 AM. There in the floor lay my hiking boots. In my thirteen years of photography, I’d never had anyone take me up on the offer to shoot at sunrise. It’s an early wakeup call when the sky’s still threaded with stars and the world is sound asleep. To me, watching the night sky transcend to a cloudburst and color palette of a new day is powerful. It is Holy. It makes Heaven and Earth, even if but a handful of minutes, feel merged. It makes something stir in my soul. A week prior, I sent Lily the same text I did to anyone else for portrait options. We’d planned to shoot somewhere in the enfolds of nature, and thought a mountaintop would be super epic. We could shoot in the evening haze near sunset, or we could chase the sunrise. But, it would require an early wakeup call, some strategic preplanning, and getting on the road shortly after our 4 AM wakeup call. She enthusiastically opted for chasing the sunrise. When we left for our senior portrait mountain adventure, there was still a full moon. Whatever unfolded, I knew it would be magical. Lily is the kind of person who reminds me of the beauty of staying present, holding expectations loosely, and experiencing life’s glories in whatever unfolds.

There are all sorts of different people in the world. There are those who you meet in passing, share a brief conversation or some polite words with, and then go about your day, never seeing them again. There are others who you engage with for several minutes more, maybe even a couple hours, and perhaps trade phone numbers. Some become friends. Some remain a moment passed in time. And some walk into a room, and it’s as if the light in them illuminates throughout their every step and interaction. Some you share a few words with, and in those few words, it’s as if you share a brain, live on the same wavelength, and feel like they viscerally, spiritually understand exactly who you are and your own human experience. Some are kindred spirits. My thoughts often feel as chicken scratched as my journal pages in how I speak to them, and it baffles me when someone genuinely tracks along.

That is Lily.

Her middle name, Elif (derived from her family’s Turkish roots) translates as “The girl who spreads light". I couldn’t think of more fitting words than what’s quite literally in her own name. I’ve had the delight of knowing this brilliant young woman since November, when we met at a dinner one of our ballroom studios hosted. I was shocked when I learned she was only seventeen. She spoke with the wisdom of a philosopher, the abstract beauty of an artist, and the eloquence of someone who had seen at least seventy years of life. There was a warmth and ease in how she connected; a confidence that didn’t have to prove itself. We shared a zeal for writing and philosophical poetry, ballroom dancing (obviously!), art that makes you feel something and contemplate life a little deeper, anthropology and life abroad, and of course, the great outdoors and its splendor. We’d happen to show up at the studio at the same time, happen to be wearing nearly identical clothing (I have photographic proof of this), happened to land at the same live jazz event on New Year’s Eve, and I laughed to myself upon finding out of her Turkish heritage…and her learning I spent 3.5 months in Turkey. What are the odds? Lily’s joy is contagious and being around her makes you crave the purity of life and its simple yet profound beauties. Luna from Harry Potter is her doppelgänger. Hands down. Talking to her is a gift in and of itself.

As we drove down the moonlit highway to chase the sunrise, piano music in the background, I told her she really needed to write a book. I still don’t know how she was so lively for having slept under three hours. She apparently stayed up until 1 AM to make muffins for a 4 AM drive. We arrived to the parkway in plenty of time before the first peek of light, only to find the gates closed. I was determined to find a place off the road or nearby to park the car, even if it meant taking a mini hike to our actual hike. Nothing. Our entire game plan of photographing her during a hike as the sun rose over a mountaintop was off the table. Most people would allow that mishap to ruin their entire day…but not Lily.

“Wherever we go and no matter where we catch the sunrise, even if it’s the side of the road somewhere, joy and freedom can still be felt!”

We found a nearby park, and guess what? The gates were closed. But that didn’t stop us. We parked at a vacated car wash nearby and hopped over the gate. At first sight, it seemed a rinky little park in the middle of nowheresville…definitely not as glorious as a mountaintop. We kept walking. Nestled within it was a river and sandy beaches scattered throughout. Suddenly, it was as if we were in Narnia itself. There was this distinct moment where we stopped in a brief trance of sorts; captivated by the burst of color seeping through the trees and illuminating the early morning sky. Everything was green and gold. It was as if the world was painted just for Lily. It felt like Heaven met Earth, and as Lily ran wild and free - barefoot in the river, yoga and cartwheels in the grass, hugging oak trees, and savoring the first of the morning light on the rocks - it was like watching a living, breathing metaphor of freedom itself. As we sat on the rocks, feet dipped in the river, I checked the time. I asked Lily if she wanted to climb a mountain, as we originally planned. I did not want her to be disappointed. She smiled with the deepest sense of ease and delight,

“We had that mountain experience right here.”

Beauty is everywhere. We need not traipse across the country or the Atlantic or spend thousands of dollars on airfare to find it. Look up. Look in front. Look within. Beauty is there; tucked away in every crevice and corner. We just have to seek it. And just as it’s said that when we seek God, we will find Him…so it goes with beauty. We just need to look. May our eyes be open.

Dear Lily Elif,

Indeed, you spread light to those around you. May your next venture to Costa Rica to teach English, teach yoga, and most importantly, teach the gift that is admiring and appreciating what’s right in front of you, as you’ve taught me…be immensely blessed beyond what your mind can even fathom. May you forever see life through the purity of childlike eyes. May beauty follow you. And may you continue to find it.

CeCe - Urban Nostalgia [Greensboro, NC Photographer]

This shoot was timely. It’s funny how life can be so chaotic and you find yourself stuck in what feels like the fight or flight cyclone of making it to the next given task. The last couple months presented some challenges, and mentally, I felt really shut down and in survival mode. Creativity and photography are truly like gifts from Heaven, because it forces my brain to think differently. It causes me to step back and admire and appreciate beauty. It’s always felt as a lifeline; an IV of wonder and joy and awe. Spending the evening wandering around Greensboro’s parks, finding kitschy wall art in parking garages, and fangirling over the contrast of CeCe’s amazingly Black Widow-esque hair and retro green dress with the hues outside was like therapy.

CeCe is a beautiful soul; someone who has a generous heart for humanity, zeal (and immense talent) for performing arts, always kills it on the ballroom floor, and who I’m convinced is Scarlett Johansson’s younger doppelgänger with a Billie Eilish flair. We couldn’t have asked for a better evening. It rained just an hour prior and right after we wrapped, but had the glorious blend of golden hour haze diffused through the gloomy sky just in time for this session. If the timelessness and nostalgia of the mid 20th century married the eclectic and cutting edge style of the 21st century, this portrait collection would just that. My cup runneth over.

CeCe, may you continue to seek and find and create beauty wherever you go, and may it follow you. May this next season of your life be blessed! Enjoy this preview of some of my favorite images from our time.

Katelin & Charlie [Greensboro, NC Lifestyle Photographer]

There is something really beautiful about being invited into someone else’s home. This is largely why I love lifestyle shoots. They allow you to just be. People often underestimate how fascinating they are by existing in the awe of their own simplicity and natural being. Traditional portraiture asks that you polish up, dress well, make sure the kids are behaved, make sure the family plasters on one emotion - usually a forcible smile - for 60 minutes, and present as one societally polite version. There’s nothing wrong with these images and they are still beautiful, but they don’t get to the heart of who you really are and how you are connected to your loved ones. Lifestyle is all about connection. It celebrates every emotion. It does not require one specific reaction or type of wardrobe. It is as laid back and relaxed as it gets. It probably doesn’t even feel like a shoot. And that’s because it really is a documentary of you. I act more as an observer and a friend. It’s no different than inviting a companion over for the afternoon. I just happen to have a camera, follow you around, get to know your home, and find beauty and tell a story through moments frozen in time.

Lifestyle is the reminder that you are beautiful as you are, fascinating as you are, dang interesting and mesmerizing…as you are. The dynamic color of emotions and micro-experessions captured in lifestyle are things that cannot be cued or replicated in a standard shoot. On a warm, sunny weekend in May, I got to spend the afternoon with Katelin and her sweetest baby, Charlie. We hung out inside and played with the (very compliant;)) cat, spread a blanket on the lawn, chased bubbles, and enjoyed the slow pace of life. I’ve loved watching her wee one grow. My lens has seen him from the outside perspective as he grew in utero, as a teeny two week old, and now at almost one year. I count it an honor and a joy to be part of people’s lives in this way.

From my lens to you, enjoy motherhood on Katelin and her wee one.

Holy Communion

There’s just something about being among a Catholic mass that puts my soul at ease. I grew up as a Methodist turned Baptist pastor’s kid, church hopped and denominationally tried and questioned everything in my teen years, deconstructed, doubted, and reconstructed my faith, yet am always drawn to the beauty and splendor of the church that is Our Lady of Grace. It is always a blessing to spend time here and document their masses. I love the way worship is seen in so many forms. There’s a Holy hush and beauty to be felt during their prayer, readings, liturgical chants, and the way they bring Latin - a supposedly “dead” language - back to life again. The richness of the symbolism and desire to pursue aesthetic excellence, to me, reflects the beauty they see in God.

From my lens to you, enjoy some of the beauty from First Communion two weekends ago.

Spying On Lovers

-from the journal-

4-28-24

A woman just walked into the coffee shop and brought out some sort of fancy looking frappe with whipped cream atop. She hopped in the passenger seat. I assumed she bought one for her husband and one for herself. Or maybe he was just being a kind, sacrificial husband and making an inconvenient jo run before the Sunday hustle. Either way, I inwardly envied the simplicity. How does love come so seemingly easy? There was just something about the woman, short hair, crocs, T-shirt, passenger side door waiting, that made it look so effortless. I glanced up and another car took their spot as the woman and her frothy coffees and assumed husband or lover drove away. This time, it was a younger couple.

I caught them mid embrace, having a moment as lovers do, and I saw the young man self consciously glance my way. To his fortune, my sunglasses and this chicken scratch journal guised my polite observance of them. He kissed her temple. I couldn’t see her face; only her head full of thick, beautiful, raven black curls. They held each other in between my parked SUV and their sedan. Maybe they hadn’t seen each other in a while. Maybe they were new lovers and exploring the honeymoon phase and its butterfly vomiting euphoria and fresh Dopamine high. Or maybe, they were just living and existing in love and enjoying each other. They untangled from their embrace and walked to the coffee shop entrance. Her face was as radiant and beautiful as her black curls. Her smile had a really authentic glow and content looking joy.

I saw a book in her hand. Exploring the Presence of God. They must be heading to corporate worship soon. Or maybe she was in a small group and catching up on her homework before the Sunday school bells ring. Or maybe, she just sought to grow closer to God, and this book brought beauty and wonder to her life. Meanwhile, I sit here, more couples passing by; some church ready and others’ baggy T-shirts screaming they are perhaps taking a truer sabbath (which technically was yesterday, but hey, welcome to western, evangelical culture) than the hustling, corporate church goers. Whatever the case, they all make love look easy and simple.

I’ve wrestled a massive low and episodes of depression over my roster of much failure in that arena. It can feel like the heart is something for rent; something as disposable as an old razor when it’s done the job and discarded.

And maybe that’s the story of all the lovers who roam in and out of the coffee shop too. Maybe one or the other is a liar, a cheater, an addict, or just emotionally unavailable. Maybe one or the other just learned to tolerate it because they are convinced and mind numbed to believe being in pain with someone is better than without. Maybe they turned 28 or 29 or 30 and felt they missed the societal memo that screams,

“You must be wedded and bedded and procreating before age 33.”

Maybe they looked good enough on paper and checked the checkboxes, even though marrying for logic and the mind’s grandest, idealized, “Build your own” preference for a human being is more likely a sign & symptom for a divorce paper.

Maybe they’ve gone through hard times. Maybe they married a societal lie. Maybe they live a beautiful facade and feel isolated and unloved on the inside. Maybe it’s all fun and games.

Or maybe, they’re just a “beautifully mysterious complication”, broken, fucked up, riding through the ebb & flow and strangeness of love & life. Maybe they’re still figuring it out too. Maybe the war of our hearts are just fought in different ways.

In Love With A Ghost

-Exploring my dreams-

Last night, I dreamed I had a husband.

I sat on the iron staircase of a film production set and glanced down. To my utter shock, a bulky, silver wedding ring was on my finger. It felt almost like plastic. It certainly was nothing of real value and beauty. It was very unattractive and far too big, but an excited feeling of those old, familiar butterflies washed over me.

“Wow! I’m married. I don’t remember this happening.”

It was the strangest feeling and emotion. I was shocked and thrilled to know I had a wedding ring and the seal of a supposed “oneness” with a lover. It was a deep, visceral security in knowing I had the stamp of foreverness, permanence, and commitment with someone. I couldn’t remember my own wedding. I wasn’t entirely sure who my husband was, but the new identity felt good. Finally, I wouldn’t be such a disappointment to people’s expectations of my love life. Something actually worked out. I didn’t remember having a love life that worked out, but this time, he was here to stay. I sat on the stairs, ironically moving the ugly ring from my right finger to my left. I had every outward attribute of marriage. I had the ring, governmental piece of paper, vow under God, and everything that legally and spiritually yoked two people together. I couldn’t get over how ugly the ring was and couldn’t remember my own wedding, but that was okay. My heart was gratified in knowing I had someone who wouldn’t leave. The fact I had someone I got to refer to as “My husband” to others - not a boyfriend; not an ex - was consoling. Yet, I still felt a nagging void.

“Is this what it feels like to be a wife?”

I was married, but I did not feel very married. Something felt stagnant. I looked around. I realized my husband wasn’t with me. I looked up from the ugly, oversized silver ring, and a hologram of sorts appeared. I could see into his world.

He was in great distress; his face agonized. His family surrounded him. They spoke harsh words of me and beat it over his head that his decision for marriage to a woman like me, was an impulsive, regrettable mistake. It was like watching a livestream narrative of why I wasn’t a worthy enough woman for him.

She is a disappointment and a mistake.

That was the conclusion. My heart felt like it fractured. I looked down at the ring again.

“Is this what it feels like to be married?”

And that’s when it hit me.

I had him legally, but I didn’t have his heart. I had a marriage license, but not a real marriage. I had all the material proof and labels of a husband, but he wasn’t really with me. I was in love with the idea of being loved, but I wasn’t really loved.

I was in love with a ghost. And a ghost was in love with the idea of me.

Love Is Like Open Heart Surgery

-A self portrait narrative-

They say that love is like putting your heart out on the line.

There’s always a risk.

Sometimes, it comes with great reward and heartthrob, and other times, accompanied by great loss and heartache.

The bravery of opening the heart is like trusting a surgeon to perform open heart surgery. There is a risk. And hopefully worth it.

If you have ever been brave enough to:

Hold a hand.

Then let it go.

Say “Yes”.

Say “Goodbye”.

Open your heart.

Sew up it’s broken pieces.

Write a love letter.

Then a breakup letter.

Begin a chapter.

Write it’s end.

Feel butterflies in your chest.

Then pull out a knife.

Do life with someone.

And then run for your life

from someone.

Commit.

Sever.

Laugh.

Cry.

Begin.

End.

Bear a scar, yet a healed story…

Then you too understand that love is just as risky as open heart surgery.