“Finding your calling” is something I have heard tossed around often in recent years. A calling – something ancient in you, YOU. It can be personal, it can be an occupation, it can be the way you contribute to the world, it can be big or small. It’s different for everyone.

I used to want to be happy in any situation. That was my goal, but I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t find joy sitting in my apartment, watching movie after movie and ignoring the world, during my first year of grad school because I didn’t want to be there. I couldn’t find happiness despite harsh efforts.

A few years ago, sitting in a therapist’s office in Eugene, I took a different approach. I can’t be happy in any situation, but I can bring love to any situation.

Just this year, I gave space for my calling to emerge. And it’s a simple one – sit in love, now. Remember where you are, now. Love, now.

Photography was a love of mine in high school. People who knew me then still ask about it, a passion that I have long forgotten. I wrote college essays about taking pictures – what it’s like when the rest of the world drops away from your frame. Capturing, seeing, appreciating, understanding truth. I joined a club in middle school of retired photographers and learned the first rule: impact, impact, impact. They guided and encouraged and taught me how to see.

I got scared. There are so many good photographers out there. I got distracted – hello boyfriend, hello college. I worked for the college newspaper taking pictures, and got discouraged. There were people so much better.

So, I dropped it. I started writing again instead. I’m still writing, but that feeling of missing my calling with photography pops its ugly head on occasion.With this blog, I can share both words and images. All the photos on here are ones I have framed.

And, I figured it out, for now. My calling is to write, through the lens of a camera. Each morning I get up, write down the date, a few sentences of thought, and choose a picture from my arsenal to describe in words. They are my daily writing chords.

I will share some of these with you in the future, perhaps when I feel dry from other writing or want to nurse this seemingly forgotten blog (hi mom).

Thank you. Thank you readers and friends, for listening and seeing, with me.


It’s softly dropping mist this evening in Topeka, after a previous night of thunderstorms. The rolling cracks woke me in the early morning just enough to feel a little fear, and beauty, and mumble “it’s thunder baby.” He pulls me closer because he knows I’m afraid.

In Oregon, I love thunderstorms. The heat, the warm rain, the thunder, the lighting that strikes in a high desert sky. Here, I am afraid. I don’t know yet what is a thunderstorm and what is calling for a tornado.

But this evening, it is calm. Like a haar. Living on a medieval coast of Scotland my first year of college, my Scottish friend told me the thick bank of coastal fog was called a haar. We all giggled and wrapped our foreign lips around the noise coming out of our mouths: Haaaaarrrr. Like a pirate.

The Harr was thick and calming. Encompassing and safe. It was soft. Kind of like it is tonight in Topeka.