He waited patiently in the car, heat blasting, for me to take the pictures. When I slipped back inside, face flush from the cold, he asked what I was taking a picture of. Of course, he is used to me and he only smiled when I replied, “Skid marks.”

I have never been in a car that spun around. Well, except for once or twice during ice storms in our area. I was always afraid of bumper cars, too. Worried that I would be that kid stuck in the corner, turning the wheel and going nowhere. I was afraid of those mirror mazes, too. Worried I might never find my way out. And those big slides at the fair. The ones where you lie down on a burlap sack and slide so fast — I couldn’t try. Not jumping off the diving board or zip lining across a forest. Only recently have I begun to understand how growing up in a chaotic home made for a fearful adult unable to trust others to keep her safe. It might seem a pity, but I have compassion for myself. It is not too late.

{purveyors of fine crafted goods — on film}

I’m thinking this morning, about this next season of my life, and what are the provisions I will need for the journey. What things will I need to stock up on? What supplies will I require? How can I prepare? The future is wildly uncertain. I wonder if I can hold my heart open for all the goodness that may come instead of worrying over worst case scenarios.

“And yes, a photograph's role can change. When the photograph is made, I only have an idea of it. When I look at the negative it starts to bring me back to that original idea, but it must be fleshed out in color or in tones of black and white before I can fully see it. Even then its meaning can change depending on what image is placed beside it. Images begin to speak to each other . . . . The more photographs that you make, the more opportunities they have to speak to each other. The more photographs that you make, the more they begin to fit together like a large puzzle. But it's a puzzle that can be put together in many different ways.” —Susan Worsham, Film Photo Award

{more film photographs}

On mottoes, mantras, and mission statements.

I love a good mission statement. In a few short sentences, an organization, group or family can set the tone for every interaction. This is the mission statement from the physical therapy practice I use and it’s a big part of why I chose them.

Our mission at Orthopedic Physical Therapy, Inc is to be a leader in the field of physical therapy by providing the highest quality of individual focused care. We strive to address the person as a whole when determining your dysfunction, so that we can help you reach your maximum functional ability, health, and happiness. We listen to you, care about you, and provide one-on-one patient to therapist sessions in order to optimize the health and well-being of our community; one patient at a time.

My mantra these days goes something like this. “Their path is not my path.” Or, “I know that kind of thing doesn’t work for me.” Versions of this mantra help me to stop comparison in its tracks. My goal is to respect the right of each person to make their own way. To meet each person where they are with love and compassion, and to expand that compassion to include myself.

My motto is always . . . with love and kindness. This motto brings along with it deep gratitude, but doesn’t exclude anger or outrage or resentment or even plain old irritability. It simply sets the bar high . . . for integrity and quality. And such a motto requires, as a corollary, forgiveness and fresh starts. It packs quite a punch with a few words.