I’m not sure exactly when it started, but I know that it did, indeed, start. Somewhere along the road to here, I stopped taking pictures just for me. I’m not saying that means I don’t enjoy taking pictures for everyone else, because I do(always and forever and ever). I just forgot that I used to feed a voice inside me with the click of a shutter. The voice has been growling and groaning with hunger. I’ve stepped out of seeing my own life. It’s such a strange thing to realize, to feel. This morning, all my spare beds were full of a handful of faces that I dearly love. I waited for them to start the new year with me. I was eager to have them going through morning motions, but in the morning quite, I heard that voice and it’s started to burn. I opened the blinds and I got out my camera, and started to watch little stories that were happening around my house. The stories started quiet, but not silent at all. Then the other stories woke up, started to line up for breakfast, for puzzle pieces, for cartoons and iPod games, and for soft spoken exchanges about last night’s happenings and today’s newness. I don’t want to forget these stories. I want to keep up with my motto, and do good things. I want to photograph those good things too. So, I’m not committing to a” picture a day project” or a “52 week picture project”, but I’m going to be committing to good things, to stories (some quiet and some so loud), to being present in seeing my life a little more.