{sadie after one of our runs. poor thing.}

“Rejoice in the things that are present; all else is beyond thee.”
~ Montaigne

I started running (again.) This is my third time doing the Couch to 5K program and the first time since being pregnant and having a baby almost nine months ago. I was inspired to start running again by my friend Eileen who was inspired by this post (don’t let the word “maggots” deter you).

Perhaps I should back up a little. I am not athletic. I am not outdoorsy. In fact, I am quite “indoorsy”. I would choose being at home or sitting in a coffee shop over most physical activities. Don’t tell my parents, but when I was a kid, I would pretend that I’d twisted my ankle to get out of gym class. (Hi Mom and Dad!)

So when I tried running a couple of years ago, I was surprised by what my body was capable of. It was invigorating and empowering and dare I say it…fun!

But then life happened. I got married, quit my job, started a business, and had a baby. It’s been a whirlwind, to say the least. Who has time for running???

I’m full of excuses.

And that’s just it: I’ve made excuses for years. (Don’t we all?) I decide I’m not capable of something and then I just don’t do it. The result is that I miss out on a lot of cool stuff.

A few weeks ago, I was in my yoga class (I returned to yoga recently, too!) and the teacher was demonstrating our next pose. As soon as I saw it, I shut down. Nope. I’m not doing that. I don’t do upside-down poses. That pose is for other people, not for me. (True story – I’ve avoided certain yoga poses my whole life.) But then I thought about other things I’ve done that were MUCH harder that I had never done before … like … ummm…having a baby, for instance. I decided that if I could have a freaking baby, I could do this. A minute later, I was upside down with my feet on the wall doing the pose I told myself I couldn’t do.

What else do I deny myself? What else am I missing out on?

Back to running.

Yesterday, I started Week 4 of Couch to 5K. I looked at the new week’s running schedule and my first reaction was, “Impossible!” The schedule called for a run of 4 minutes, 6 minutes, and 4 minutes, with some walking in between. Remember, I’m not athletic and I’m still recovering from having a baby, PPD, and general lethargy. (Excuses, excuses.)

This time I caught my negative thoughts and did something about it. I tied up my shoes, put Sadie in the stroller, and got started. When I hit my first run, I decided to challenge myself to see something new every time I passed a house. I’ve passed these houses a million times before, but by the time four minutes had gone by, I had seen so many new things. I saw tiny prayer flags, a white cat in a window, a friendly lady in a cute hat, a beautiful garden tucked behind some trees. Everywhere I looked, I found something I had overlooked before.

Before I knew it, I had finished running. I was amazed. A few months ago, at the height of my postpartum depression, there’s no way you would have found me running, let alone enjoying it. I had lost the ability (or desire) to see beauty in the everyday moments. And here I was, five months later, finding it again…with the help of my running stroller and my yoga mat.

So why am I telling you all of this?

I guess I’m trying to process so much of what I’ve experienced recently and figure out how else I’ve been limiting myself. I am evolving in all of my roles and they are all connected even when they are messy and imperfect.

I’ve decided I want to share more of myself here in my cozy internet home. For some reason, I’ve had the limiting belief that I couldn’t share certain things here. It’s time to change that. I want to share my stories of joy AND heartache. I want to post photos of my clients and iPhone photos of my baby. I want to talk about motherhood and what it’s like to be a SAHM/WAHM (stay-at-home/work-at-home-mom). I want to post photos of my family with abandon and publish imperfect blog posts that ramble and don’t always have a clear conclusion (like this one.)

My life and my business are intertwined. I am a mom and a wife. I am a photographer and a writer. I am a runner (ha!) and a yogi. I am a Slice of Life excavator, a beauty seeker, and a couch potato. I watch “Friends” to escape and Pema Chodron to connect. I am all of these things and more and don’t want to be limited by the story I’m telling myself about who I should or shouldn’t be.

Instead, I want to look around and enjoy the view as I forge a new path. From where I stand, the view is quite spectacular.

I’ll end by asking you this: What are you denying yourself? What do you want to try that you’ve never tried before?

Sometimes you find yourself nursing a baby at Starbucks because hunger can’t wait.

Sometimes you find yourself driving somewhere you’ve never been before
just to get the baby to sleep and daydreaming with your husband
about all the places you will take her some day.

Sometimes you find yourself piling all of the clean laundry on top of the baby because,
let’s face it, that’s a whole lot more fun than actually folding it.

Sometimes you find yourself sitting on the front stoop
when the baby is too tired to nap and you are too tired to entertain her.
You listen to the birds and feel the breeze
and you both are content just being there together.

Sometimes when she finally FINALLY falls asleep after a long day,
the only thing left to do is put up your feet and spend time with an old friend.

And sometimes, you feel like you live a lifetime in one day.

Then you wake up the next day and do it all over again.

And again.

And again.

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*All photos taken with my iPhone and posted in real time on Instagram. You can follow me there at @darrahparker.

Registration is OPEN for the next session of my photography e-course,
the Slice of Life Project, starting July 2.
Savor the details of your everyday life through the lens of your camera.
Any kind of camera and all experience levels welcome.
Registration and e-course details here.
I’d love for you to join me!

{fallen but not forgotten}

I’ve been reflecting over the past few days, overwhelmed by the tragic events that hit Seattle on Wednesday. When lives are taken randomly and senselessly, I can’t help but stop to recalibrate. These deaths hit close to home – several of the people who died were musicians, members of the community that my husband belongs to. But really, it doesn’t matter that I’m two degrees removed from them. We are all connected. When someone dies, we are all affected. Lives are changed. The molecules in our collective breathing space are altered. Whether we know the people personally does not matter. We all feel it, whether it happens right next door or across the world.

My first reaction to events like the ones that happened this week is to grab my loved ones and tell them how much I love them. Then I wonder why I wait until tragedy hits to say these things. Why not say them every day? My husband and I have been making a practice of telling each other we appreciate each other every day. I even say it to Sadie when she wakes up in the morning. Telling someone you appreciate them is different than saying “I love you” (although that’s great, too.) I like to acknowledge the hard work my husband does to support our little family, the meals he cooks for us, the way he cares for us so deeply. And it feels good to be acknowledged, especially when some of the work I do is thankless. (My daughter has yet to thank me for changing her diaper or rocking her to sleep.)

The other thing that’s been gnawing at me the past few days is the question of purpose. When someone dies, especially at a young age, people often float around platitudes like “seize the moment” and “there’s no time like the present.” Yes, all of these things are true, but they are also loaded with pressure. I look at my work and ask myself if I am doing enough? What purpose am I serving? I wonder if photography is silly and surface. I wonder if I should be doing more? Should I be seizing the moment more? Embracing the present more? Savoring more?

After letting my head spin into a tizzy about my purpose in life, I’ve decided that none of this matters. These questions keep me AWAY from what is most important. My family is important to me. My friends are important to me. Photography is important to me. That’s all that matters.

I have worried about what I share on my lil’ blog. Do I share too much? Do I share too little? There are stories I haven’t told that are yearning to be told. In time, I will tell them. When the time is right. But I have decided that I don’t want to look back with regret. My story deserves to be told. (And so does yours, by the way.)

When dealing with loss, grief, depression, and everything in between, art is more important than ever. Art is a means of story telling. It brings us closer to ourselves and each other. It bridges gaps and heals wounds. It is what we have in common – no matter our race, nationality, age, or gender. Photography is healing and meditative and I’ve seen it help so many people. It doesn’t matter if I’m taking a photo with a “fancy” camera or with my iPhone. It doesn’t matter who I know or what I know. What matters is how it makes me feel. And it always makes me feel better.

So I guess what I’m trying to say is this: Hold your loved ones close. Tell them you appreciate them. Make art. Make what matters to you. Write. Sing. Dance. Paint. Take photos. Spread love.

Don’t wait.

I hope to never doubt my art again. And my wish for you is to embrace your art – whatever it is.

Pick up your camera, your iPhone, your guitar, your paint brush, your knitting needles, or your pen and CREATE. And if you need a reason, do it because you can. Do it for yourself. Do it for us.

“Compassion is not a relationship between the healer and the wounded.
It’s a relationship between equals.
Only when we know our own darkness well can we
be present with the darkness of others.
Compassion becomes real when we recognize our shared humanity.”
~ Pema Chodron

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The next session of the Slice of Life Project starts July 2. Savor the details of your everyday life through the lens of your camera. No photography experience required. Any kind of camera welcome. Registration and e-course details here. I’d love for you to join me.

Today, I say farewell to my 33rd year. It was by far the best and hardest year of my life. If I’ve learned anything at all this year, it is that the two are not mutually exclusive. We can feel both great joy and sadness at the same time. We can feel uncertainty and conviction. We are humans, after all. Beautifully complex. Ever changing.

To say goodbye to 33 and hello to 34, I’ve composed a list of all of the things I’ve experienced in this doozy of a year:

1. Pregnancy.
2. Nausea.
3. Wonder.
4. Adoration.
5. Growth.
6. Spring.
7. Summer.
8. Fall.
9. Winter.
10. Darkness.
11. Light.
12. Spring again.
13. Savoring.
14. Patience.
15. Letting go.
16. Labor.
17. Breathing.
18. Birth.
19. Joy.
20. Fear.
21. Resistance.
22. Insomnia.
23. Exhaustion.
24. PPD.
25. Uncertainty.
26. Surrender.
27. Resilience.
28. Rebirth.
29. Hope.
30. Enoughness.
31. Strength.
32. Laughter.
33. Love.

All of this PLUS I had the honor of witnessing and documenting many celebrations, births, and slices of life. What an amazing year.

Thanks for being with me through it all.

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Pssst…to celebrate my birthday, I am opening registration for the summer session of the Slice of Life Project today and offering a sweet early-bird rate of $75. Enter the code “savor” at check-out to receive the discount. Note: the early-bird rate will expire Monday at 5:00 p.m. PST. Thereafter, it will return to $99. Click here for details and to register!

I am here.
Quietly watching from the wings, for once
Saying no to some things
In order to make room for others

I am here.
Walking the baby around the neighborhood
In my pajamas
Because that’s the only way she will nap this morning

I am here.
Reading “Hop on Pop”
Singing “The Itsy Bitsy Spider”
For the twentieth time today

I am here.
Watching the tweets fly by me
Like wind in my face
As other people create and sell and market

I am here.
Closing my eyes for ten minutes
Breathing in and out
Hoping she’ll give me ten more minutes

I am here.
Allowing myself to really be here
Instead of fast-forwarding or
Wistfully wishing for another time

I am here.
Watching biology in action
As limbs grow, sounds emerge,
Joy rises

I am here.
With a new purpose in my life
A purpose bigger than I can imagine
One that weighs a mere 16 pounds, but whose weight is felt in every part of my being

I am here.
Leaning into this moment
And this one
And this one

Creative joy shows up in new ways for me these days. It looks different. It feels different. And sometimes, I have to dig deep to find it. As a new mom of a 5-month-old daughter, I am navigating new territory. I’m used to my time being my time. I’m used to freedom showing up in many ways that it doesn’t show up anymore. Freedom to relax, eat, shower, and yes, even create are now on her clock.

Just yesterday, I had my whole day planned out in my head. There were blog posts to write, photos to edit, and maybe even a latte to drink leisurely in a café. All of these things were dependent on naps being on schedule. I giggle as I write this because if I’ve learned anything in the past five months it is that you can’t depend on anything when it comes to babies.

So when the first nap only lasted 45 minutes and my plans were thrown off, I had two options: resist or let go. I chose to let go. My plans flew out the window and instead I went with her flow. Her flow is now my flow, after all. The more I realize this, the easier and more fun life is.

It turned out her plans were better than my plans. We found ourselves at storytime at a local bookstore, singing with other babies, perusing the aisles. Later, I wanted so much for her to nap at home so I could get work done. Instead, I had to act fast and found myself walking her around the lake to get her to sleep. At first, my teeth were gritting, thinking about where I wanted to be, what I thought I should be doing. Then I let go, opened my eyes, and picked up my camera. Ahhh…I could breathe again.

When I resist the new rhythm, I feel myself closing off, gasping for air, getting resentful and tired, and losing sight of the beauty around me. As a photographer, it’s my mission to find beauty in my life, even on the hard days – even on the days that don’t go as planned. When I let go, I find myself more in touch with my creativity, more able to see the beauty around me, and much more likely to pick up my camera to photograph it.

Where do I find my creative joy? Hearing my daughter laugh. Sitting on the floor, singing “The Wheels on the Bus” for the 900^th time that day. Watching my husband light up as he gives her her first cooking lessons. Seeing her sit up for the first time. Witnessing her discover new things every day – raindrops, birds, trees, her own feet. Walking around the lake to make sure she gets a nap, only to notice that spring has arrived and what a wondrous thing it is that I get to witness new life grow before my very eyes.

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A big thank you to Jennifer Louden, Susannah Conway, and Marianne Elliott for inviting me to share my thoughts on creative joy. They are hosting a retreat in June that looks downright scrumptious, complete with joyful writing, joyful photography, and joyful yoga. Sounds dreamy, huh? Find more info about the retreat and sign up here.

* * * * * * * * * * *

BIG EXCITING NEWS! I am currently creating a photography e-course for mamas – one that will help moms take better photos of their kids, but more importantly honor the lives they are living, find the beauty in their daily routines and the piles of laundry, and to reconnect to their creativity. If this sounds up your alley, join my mailing list to be the first to know when registration opens and for exclusive mailing list specials.

{real life}

There has been lots of “I am enough” talk on the internet recently. I even wrote a post for Tracey Clark’s I Am Enough Collaborative a few years ago (pre-baby). I laughed as I reread it because I was dealing with the same not-enoughness then as I am now. I felt like I had so much to do, so little time. Add a baby to the mix and you can imagine how I’m in a constant state of not-enoughness now.

I talk a lot about finding beauty in the mess, in the dirty dishes and piles of laundry. Truth be told, I am much better at finding beauty in other people’s messes. When I see a mess in my own house, it sets off a domino effect. I start to think of all the other things I’m not doing that I “should” be doing: writing blog posts, folding the laundry, putting together the new e-course that’s been in my head for months, figuring out what to do with all of baby clothes that Sadie has outgrown. The list goes on and on. I even make myself feel guilty for not taking naps when Sadie is napping.

I think I will always have a little bit of this trait, but I’m starting to obsess about things less. Something has shifted. When I walked by the kitchen on Saturday and saw the light hitting the dirty dishes just so, my first thought was not guilt-ridden about the pile of dishes. Instead, I saw the beauty. I rushed to my iPhone so I could capture the moment before it passed.

The truth is I am doing enough. I am doing more than enough. The most important thing is that I’m raising a happy baby. While the dishes sat on the kitchen counter, I spent Saturday with my girl, charming people at a coffee shop, singing songs together, and hanging out in the back yard watching her touch grass for the first time.

So what if the dishes are dirty? When all is said and done, I will not be thinking about the mess. Instead, I will remember the rays of light and the lights of my life. That is what matters most. After all, if I’m focused on what I’m not doing, I’d miss out on all of this:

{Passover | photographed with iPhone}

Family is very important to us. And so is food. Put the two together and we couldn’t be happier! Usually, when our families get together, we spend each meal reminiscing about the last meal we had and making plans for the next.

This year, we were so pleased that we could host our family’s Passover Seder. It was our first time hosting the Seder and loved having our home filled with warmth and laughter, not to mention delicious food!

Sadie joins us for every meal if she’s awake, even though she’s not eating solid foods yet (any day now!) We love looking over and seeing her watch us carefully. These days, she’s mimicking our chewing. She wants to eat so much!

{Sadie's chewing face | 5 months old | photographed with iPhone}

This week’s theme is DINNER.

This week, photograph the details of your dinner time rituals. What does dinner time look like for you? Do you have any family traditions? Do you eat at the same time every night or does it change every night? Who sets the table? Who does the cooking? Who cleans up afterwards? What do you talk about during your meals or do you prefer quiet meal times alone? I can’t wait to see what dinner time looks like in your world!

About Slice of Life Tuesday: Every Tuesday, I post a photo and a weekly theme to inspire you to take photos of your own everyday Slices of Life. Share your photos in the Slice of Life Tuesday Flickr group or leave a comment below with a link to your Slice of Life blog posts. To receive the Tuesday themes in your reader, subscribe to my blog here.

My Slice of Life, The Sadie Edition

{All photos taken and processed with my iPhone and posted in “real time” on Instagram. You can see these snapshots – my insta-Slices-of-Life – by following me on Twitter or on Instagram – my username is darrahparker. See you there!}

Reminder: the next session of the Slice of Life Project starts on Monday! In this 6-week e-course, you will learn to slow down, appreciate, and capture your own everyday lives, and improve your photography while you’re at it! No prior photography experience required. Any kind of camera welcome. Details and registration here.

{iphone self portrait: this is what motherhood looks like}

When I was about 36 weeks pregnant, just weeks from meeting our little rosebud, I sat in a circle with other soon-to-be-parents. We had been meeting once a month since early in our pregnancies. The first baby of the group had been born and we were all eager to meet him and assess the sanity of his parents. So they sat there and told their story. They talked about labor and delivery and sleep and feeding. I soaked in every word, as if they held the secret. In retrospect, everything they said probably went in one ear and out the other. I nodded my head knowingly, as if I knew what I was about to experience. As if we were ready. (Ha!) And then I asked the following question:

“How many burp cloths did you buy?”

Really? Really? That’s what I asked? As if having the exact right amount of burp cloths was going to mean we were totally prepared for anything.

The reality is that there is no way to prepare. If there was, I would have bought every single burp cloth I could find.

Everyone says it, but there is no way to understand how much your life is going to change when a baby is born – not just in beautiful, wondrous ways, but in hard, raw ways. Nobody can tell you what to expect. You just have to live it.

I remember reading “mom blogs” before I had Sadie and dreaming about how fun life was going to be with a baby in the house – how she would be born and fit right in with the life we already had. These blogs make it all look so easy. Moms who are knitting booties two weeks after having their babies. Moms who are training for marathons or making clothes for their babies or launching websites mere weeks after their babies were born. (Oh, wait. I was that mom.)

But what those moms don’t tell you (and what I’m going to tell you now) is that it’s hard. Even when you want to have a baby more than anything you’ve ever wanted, it’s hard. Nobody talks about what you have to give up in order to open your heart wider than it’s ever opened and what you’ll gain when you release the old and welcome the new.

This is Motherhood. With a capital “M”.

It’s giving when you have nothing left to give. Loving when you need to be loved. Holding, dreaming, mourning, celebrating, laughing, crying. And then doing it all over again.

I’ve been hesitant to share this side of my life with you because I don’t want to seem ungrateful. I know many of you are dreaming of getting pregnant, are dealing with infertility, are waiting to meet a life partner so you can have a baby together, or are just plain sick of seeing happy baby pictures on mom blogs (including my own.) I’ve also been hesitant because I have a ton of pregnant friends who are currently wistfully dreaming about their babies-on-the-way, just as I was a few months ago and I don’t want to diminish that joy.

The thing is that I am so grateful. And tired and confused and sad and ecstatic and joyful and upside-down and over-the-moon and more. I am a mix of so many things. I think this is just the first taste of what motherhood is all about.

So yes, this is hard. And amazing. I am so full of love for this wonder girl that I wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world. And I wanted to share this just in case you are going through something similar. I want you to know that you are not alone. We are part of a sisterhood. We are all in this beautiful mess together.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

She says, “I guess i’ll have to give it birth
to give it birth
i guess, i guess, i guess i have to give it birth
i guess i have to, have to give it birth
there’s a beautiful mess inside and it’s everywhere

Just look at yourself now
deep inside
deeper than you ever dared
there’s a beautiful mess inside
beautiful mess inside

~ Yael Naim, “Far Far”

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This photo and post were inspired by a simple photo on Instagram entitled “this is what motherhood looks like”, taken by the beautiful mama, Liz Lamoreux. If this post resonated with you at all, then hurry over and read this post by Liz. She writes, “there can be deep deep love and frustration about the realness of it all. you can hold both at once. you can hold both the beauty and shit.”

Incidentally, after I finished writing this blog post, my dainty little girl awoke from her nap, smiled the biggest smile, and had…how shall I put this delicately…a diaper malfunction. So yes, I’m with Liz. Beauty and shit. Both literal and figurative.