I Got Distracted
I didn't write a blog post this week. I meant to. And then I opened Lightroom.
There is something about old photos that stops you cold — not in a sad way, just in a this was real kind of way.
These are from 2010 and 2011. We were living in Kentucky then, and I was very new to photography — still learning light, still figuring out what I was doing. But looking back, I think I understood more than I gave myself credit for. I knew about aperture. I knew how to pull a subject away from its background. I was paying attention.
What surprised me most scrolling through? The color. Bold, saturated, unapologetic — clematis, butterflies, mountain light in Gatlinburg. I looked at those photos and thought, huh, I guess I've always loved that. The things we're drawn to have a way of being consistent, even when we're not paying attention.
And then there's this photo of my dad.
He's in his hot tub. His dog Butchie is on the lid — partially open — completely unbothered, completely devoted. That dog loved my dad the way good dogs do: without condition, without distance. Looking at it made me laugh out loud, and then it made me a little soft, the way old photos do when the people in them feel both very close and very far away at the same time.
I didn't plan to share any of this today. But sometimes the distraction is the content. Sometimes the unplanned Friday afternoon in the archives is exactly where you needed to be.