For the longest time, I thought of myself as a decent writer. I wrote poetry. I wrote letters. I wrote stories, both short and long. I even wrote and coauthored published articles and book chapters during my short lived science career (#tbt to my non-used masters degree in evolutionary developmental psychology). For the past few years, however, I’ve been struggling with words. Not in the sense that I can’t form a coherent sentence. I mean it more in the sense that I struggle to articulate to the outside world what’s actually going on on the inside. Perhaps this is one of so many reasons I love photographs. Yes, sure a photograph can be worth “1000 words,” and all that cliche bullshit. And while that certainly can be true, for me, the opposite also applies. Sometimes I can say more, using less, with a photograph, because I don’t have to struggle to find just the right combination of words. Where am I going with all this? No idea. I’m half asleep typing this 9:49pm last night and probably posting this before I lose cell signal in a (hopefully) foggy forest this morning. So yeah, I want to write more.
Here’s a photo of @jessrabbitreid & @nikkidyani.