Summer is beginning to loosen its grip.
The days are still warm, but the light has changed. There is a subtle shift happening all around us, a reminder that nothing stays exactly as it is.
Transitions.
The ending of one thing. The beginning of another. The space in between.
A culmination.
I've been attending an astrology circle for about a year now. I will be the first to admit that I do not know all of the things. Not even a little bit. But I have always believed that in this life, we tend to gravitate toward the things that feel aligned with us. The things that make us pause and think, maybe there is something here for me.
For me, I believe everything is cyclical. We move through seasons, phases, beginnings and endings, over and over again. And what better tool to help me notice those cycles than astrology—the study of how planetary activity mirrors and foreshadows earthly events—as I make my way through this strange and beautiful journey of being alive.
This week has felt a little chaotic.
Maybe it's the eclipse. Maybe it's simply life. Maybe it's the combination of both.
I'm someone who likes consistency. I pretty much do the same things every day. I like eating the same foods. I like wearing the same things. I like knowing what my day is going to look like. There is something comforting about routine. Consistency feels reliable. Safe.
But this week, the energy feels different.
There is a heaviness in the air that feels bigger than any one of us. The passing of Dolly Parton, Yayoi Kusama, and Tim Curry has left so many of us feeling a little more tender than usual.
Three people who, in completely different ways, gave the world something deeply creative.
They took what they were given and made something from it. They made people laugh, cry, think, question, dream. They made people feel.
And perhaps that is what has stayed with me most.
This eclipse seems to be saying, very loudly:
I'm going to make you feel whether you want to or not.
Sometimes I wish I had all the answers.
What is my purpose?
How do I create financial freedom?
How do I build a life that feels both meaningful and joyful?
How do I make sure that the things I spend my time doing are actually contributing to the life I want to live?
I don't know.
But my thoughts keep returning to The Sunshine Collective.
The dream of creating a coworking community space where artists and makers can gather. A place with a photography studio, room to work, room to make, room to share ideas. A place where dreams don't have to stay dreams simply because someone doesn't know where to begin.
It is a dream that keeps coming back to me.
And maybe that means something.
I've spent more than 15 years in the wedding industry, and I still feel incredibly lucky that I get to document people on some of the most meaningful days of their lives. I love photographing couples and their families. I love the anticipation, the nerves, the laughter, the tiny in-between moments that no one else notices.
I hope that the couples who connect with my work find me. I hope I get to give each of them the photographs that help them remember not just what their wedding day looked like, but what it felt like.
For the longest time, though, I never wanted to have a photography business.
Not because I didn't love photography.
Because I was scared of failing.
There is something very vulnerable about turning something you love into something that has your name attached to it. What if I wasn't good enough? What if no one hired me? What if I tried and failed?
And somewhere along the way, I proved myself wrong.
Not all at once. Not perfectly. Not without a healthy dose of imposter syndrome along the way.
But I did it.
And I am still doing it.
My growing list of wedding clients for next year brings me so much joy. It is proof that the thing I was once afraid to pursue has become a very real part of my life.
Maybe that is what transitions are really about.
Not becoming an entirely different person.
But becoming more of yourself.
Looking back and realizing that the ending of one chapter was quietly making room for another. Realizing that the things you thought were detours were actually part of the path. Realizing that sometimes the dreams that won't leave you alone are worth listening to.
Transitions are scary.
I know this because I am someone who likes her days to look relatively the same.
But I can feel it.
Something is coming to an end.
And something else is beginning.
New life. New light. A new journey.
Maybe I don't need to know exactly where it is taking me yet.
Maybe I just need to trust the cycle.
To let something end.
To make room for what comes next.
And to stay open to the possibility that, somewhere in the uncertainty, there might be a little touch of magic waiting for me.