There is this photo of my mom, a beacon of light, praying in the darkness that exists next to the ocean just after the sun has said goodnight. The vastness of the ocean makes the blue sky black — yet there she is, beaming. Beautiful. Aura and all. Making a wish, a plea. Wind in her hair and night on her skin. I want to remember this moment and the sunset point we walked to every day there wasn’t rain. I want to remember the way she always agrees to my creative visions. I want to remember the way she giggled just before the flash went off.
There is this photo of little tiny people who look like ants from eight stories above playing on the beach as the shadows of the waterfront condos tell everyone the day is almost done. People are playing catch, scanning the sand with metal detectors looking for bottle caps and jewels, getting their steps in and watching the waves (fingers crossed for a dolphin sighting). I want to remember this moment, this view. The way it makes me feel so small. This sound, the constant promise of a crashing wave. The pelicans that fly by, and that one time they flew so close we heard them flap their wings.
There is this photo of my two beloved earth angel friends folding a blue blanket in the middle of a San Fransisco park in front of an arboretum on a sunny afternoon. They are peacefully bringing the four edges of the blanket together, folding our time in the park up. There are warm indoor cuddles (and cries) waiting for us back at Breena’s flat. I want to remember this moment, hysterical with happiness. I want to remember the way everything we do is art, magic. I want to remember all of the different colors of blankets we have sat on in parks together. First yellow, then blue.
There is this photo Taj snuck of me on my five year anniversary of being off of all of my psychiatric medication. We are making sticky rice and brown sugar chicken thighs and sipping on white wine to celebrate the occasion. Taj has always helped me make a big deal of my mental health anniversaries, a love language I never knew I needed until it happened. I want to remember this feeling of how we mark time. The fiery intensity in Taj’s eyes when it’s time for the toast. The way we cast spells with our words. The way we take photos of our plates. I want to always remember being loved like this.
In this episode I dive into the prompt of how documenting our lives can be such a beautiful way to practice presence. Wether you’re taking polaroid pictures too, using an app like 1 Sec A Day, writing memorable moments in your day calendar, or you feel inspired to pick up a disposable camera from the store — I invite you to try out this practice of capturing the moments in your life. And watch the way they become portals to vivid sensory memories.
How do you document time? Please let me know in the comments below what practices you have for this! Or let me know what you’re going to give a try :)
In this episode I share about my two new coaching programs I just opened for this Spring season! As promised, here are the links!
Sense Of Self — Experience 12 weeks of deeply held one-on-one space. Experiment, explore and embody all of the parts of you that have been waiting to be expressed as you re-discover your sense of self for this current season of life.
Full Cup Club — Eight weeks of pouring into yourself so you can pour more into your projects and passions. Experience the magic of filling up your cup via guided group coaching experiences, community and co-working.
EP 4 - Practicing Presence Through The Polaroid