Body Parts

 

When I saw this scene in the thrift shop, I was immediately drawn to the symbolism. This is just what my life feels like. It’s as though all of my pieces and parts have been pulled apart and now I am working on putting them back together differently.

When I finally took a long look at the patterns in my relationships, I saw that I was long overdue for an interpersonal revision. My healing is my number one priority, and I’ve been pouring energy and attention into myself.

For years I lived with chronic pain. And it was my body wisdom that led me to a healthier and more peaceful life. I remember telling my physical therapist that I didn’t feel as though my upper body was properly situated on my lower body. I was always struggling with some discomfort, feeling as though my parts were not connected in any meaningful way. It’s an awful thing to not be present in your own life. To believe you are unworthy and try to compensate by over-giving. Now, instead of shaming, I use compassionate language to reassure myself that it’s okay to be human.

There are many ways to expand my window of tolerance, and one of those ways, is through creative work. I love life - and seeing this way makes me feel alive. And whole.

Notes on long-term projects

Wow, I love the posts by photographer Noah Waldek over on Substack. His post on March 18, 2025, Lessons on Long-Term Photo Projects, really hit home for me.

In my younger years, I was such a workhorse. Turning over projects like dominoes lined up for a chain reaction. I was often relentless about work. Even creative work. Seldom content to let things percolate or simply be what they were. Forcing things to be as I needed them to be. I don’t regret this version of myself, but I do feel a great deal of sympathy for her. That version of myself was unaware. She was driven by insecurity and fear. And still, this practice was one of her greatest teachers. What a gift!

Nowadays, I feel comfortable with not knowing where the work may lead. Not fully understanding what it means. And accepting that I may never know. The making of these pictures is enough. And long term projects are worth it. Worth the work. Worth the discomfort. Worth the wait.

My mother-in-law recently moved to an assisted living residence. She will soon be 93 and the decision was hers. She wisely told me, “We have to adapt as we age.” She has taken the move in stride and made her new home cozy and lovely.

I’ve been taking pictures of what was left behind—in her home of over 65 years. These are the things none of her children needed or wanted. Things she didn’t move with her to her new apartment. Most of it neatly sorted into collections of like objects by her youngest son. Kind of like a department store with home goods and linens and kitchen appliances and decorator items.

I expected to feel sad. After all, this was the house I came to for Christmas, Thanksgiving, birthdays, Easters . . . over and over again for my entire married life, 44 years. I am not especially sentimental about things (though deeply so about pictures and stories and people). But many of the items, when striped bare of surrounding clutter, were incredibly moving. Where the small pieces, by way of some magic math, added up to more than the sum.

This part of Noah’s post spoke to me in that way a really good friend does when they say, I know what you mean.

In reference to Gregory Halpern’s work:

Speaking about giving his projects time to develop he said: “Usually I don’t like my pictures when I first see them.” “I like to sit with the work, show people, figure out what’s working and what’s not, and then return to making pictures with a more informed vision.”

Noah adds his take:

I think that idea of distance—whether it’s the physical distance from a place to help you appreciate it, or the distance time gives you if sit on your work for a while after you create it—can be really helpful in allowing you to see what you’ve made more clearly.

I am waiting to see where this work might lead.

Through A Lens Of Love

I’m working my way along a path to relief from chronic pain that relies heavily on the brain science of mind body connection. Now, there’s a sentence I never thought I’d say! I’m a scientist at heart, trained as a physical therapist. So for me, pain has always meant addressing some biological, structural, or physiological issue. It’s only recently that I have come to understand that most chronic conditions originate from a dysregulated nervous system. It’s a whole thing . . . and you can read about it in the book, Mind Your Body by Nicole Sachs, if you’re interested.

Sharing an excerpt from Nicole’s book:

“Life can be experienced through one of two lenses: love or fear . . . When you look at your existence through the lens of fear, you anxiously need things to be a certain way, whether it’s in regard to yourself or others. You continually scan your world for problems, and when you find them—which you always will—you get stuck on what should be. Not only does living through the lens of fear require a ton of emotional repression (life is never exactly as you wish), but it creates resistance to the natural process of healing.

The lens of love, in contrast, is gentle. You acknowledge that life is constantly changing, and human beings are evolutionarily wired to ebb and flow. When you can learn to “wear life loosely” . . . you allow people and situations to be as they are—rather than how you’d have them to be. In this process, your nervous system no longer has to react so defensively to every stressful situation . . . Looking at life through a lens of love requires paying attention to how you talk to yourself.”

All of this work has been transformative for me. What I see most is just how much freer I am in my creative work. It feels risky to simply love the pictures I take. For years, I've been so critical of my work and struggled to find the value in each picture. And now, none of that seems important. What I feel now is a kind of radical acceptance and wonderful appreciation for just how much joy this hobby has given me.