I tend not to re-publish old posts. But this from July of last year…well, this one means the world to me. And since it’s my party, I’ll make myself cry if I want to.
Sometimes standard sized mugs aren’t large enough for the amount of tea I want to guzzle. Other times, all my mugs are dirty.
This past summer I traveled to Las Vegas with Daniel and when my camera battery died upon arrival, I relied on Daniel’s iPhone. But late on Saturday night, as I was thumbing through those fuzzy photographs of food and pools and semi-prostitutes to email to myself, I uncovered dozens upon dozens of snapshots he’d taken of an unknowing me.
At first I was taken aback by the rawness of a pajama-ed, wild-haired me. Unposed and unprepared. Doing everything from eating to reading to sleeping. And then I realized that these photographs are quite special. Because they capture the days I didn’t think to document. Those times that go unmentioned, seemingly irrelevant in the grand scheme of things, but they speak volumes about my identity. Random images taken throughout the last year. They don’t have stories and archived memories, but they’re the in-betweens of my life.
And as hilarious and unnerving as finding them has been, I see them to be… the truest representation of me.
Sometimes I can’t see things as closely as I’d like. But unfortunately, moving the screen closer to your face does not make anything clearer or easier to read. It only makes others consider taking a photo of you because of the absurdity.
Certainly the most excited being to ever have gazed through the window of the oven’s door. And if the sheer joy on my face isn’t revealing enough, what does my outfit say about me? Everything.
Because I have a penchant for sitting on my counter and eating frozen strawberries.
The beautiful moment when I saw my name in the credits of a movie for the first time. The big screen snapshot that brought me so much joy. Thinking of my dad, who loved movies and would have been so proud. “Shutter Island”
How unruly my long johns can be.
Bowls are for the birds.
A glass of water at 3am on a Wednesday.
A day in Seattle. I must have just gotten in from the rain. Looking cold and beguiled. I think Daniel thought the braid made me look like Pocahantas. I agreed.
Perhaps what is most beautiful about these photographs isn’t that they are a sneak peak inside my daily life, but that Daniel finds my life worth documenting. Not what I look like or what I’m doing in particular, but my zaniness. The quirks. The simple facts that I drink tea out of large measuring cups, tuck my thermal pants into my socks, wear extra large tee shirts that read “Somebody who loves me very much went to Calgary Canada and got me this shirt,” and sit cross-legged in front of my oven door to watch my cupcakes dome.
In not even one photo was I dressed well. What about that time I wore a dress? No more than two involved a “cheeeeeeese.” Each was just something he found worthwhile, something funny, because he finds me to be the funniest person he’s ever met. Not in the way of “Hey, you’re really witty,” or “Good joke!” But because I’m slightly crazy.
I realize, lucky too.
Because someone loves that about me.