Libby Williams Photoblog » this is a personal photoblog

It’s summertime.

Spread your arms and dive on in. Swim around inside of it until the routines wash away and freedom takes over your very soul. It’s time to throw it all away, let the tides take over and relax into life a little.

Welcome back summer. We have missed you.

She thinks, “Hey,
How did I come to this?
I dream myself a thousand times around the world,
But I can’t get out of this place”

- Grey Street, Dave Matthews Band

I seem to wander in my heart more than most people I know. I know many people suffer with an epic case of wanderlust, but I have a case so bad that I actually am homesick for places I have never been. I crave seeing places like the blue waters and sandy beaches of Costa Rica, the rich history and architecture of Barcelona, the undulating landscape of Tuscany, and the green and rocky coast of Ireland on nearly a daily basis. The thoughts of these places leave me feeling like a caged bird looking out into the breezy blue skies I could only hope to soar through – wings open, heart free.

I come from a family that did nothing but box themselves into safe routine – at least in the years I can recall. Sure there were family trips and adventures, but we always seemed to return to the same safe places that were familiar for them. Safety and comfort was important in their lives for reasons I will save for another blog post in the future. But I always remember wanting more. I wanted the experience of bonding through new adventures. Somewhere deep down, I just wanted to find myself in the hidden corners of crumbling castles and open spaces of breezy, sunny beaches.

Like the bird, I know life isn’t easy out there. Challenges come at every turn and life in the warm cage with constant food, water and a cozy perch for me to rest my tired and sore wings becomes appealing after a challenging day of life on the road. But there is always a piece of me crying to get out of this box and see something new. Last summer, I had some epic adventures (overview here, here, here and here). This summer will be a little more budget friendly and perhaps a little less global. Exploring my sweet little town. Camping up in the mountains for an evening or 2. Road tripping with cousins who are traveling from abroad.

These little journeys are so important – both near and far. I knew it even when I was a little girl. Those little adventures and explorations things help you find your compass inside. They let you know where you are living. They reflect your fortunes and misfortunes. They show you where you have been. They teach you to survive. They show your your strengths. They reflect your weaknesses and where you need to put your effort. They test you. And they connect you to those you travel with and those who cross your path however briefly. In a word, they help you find yourself.

So if travel helps you find yourself, maybe my wanderlust isn’t really about travel at all. Maybe I am just looking for myself in this great big world. Maybe the journey I have been craving for so long is the road straight back to finding myself.

Sometimes life feels too painful to stay closed and too painful to open myself up to the elements. So I stay stuck where I am. Half opened. Some passersby can see the power and the beauty waiting to come out, but many are too impatient to wait for the whole show. They move on to look at the next thing that is ready…Pretty. Open. Nurtured. Full. They look for the flowers that bloom where they are planted and are not afraid to show off a bit with their undulating petals and their hypnotizing fragrance. Those flowers are a magical force of nature to me.

I am drawn to the life forces which push me out of my envelope and force me to open, becoming someone I didn’t think I was capable of. I look for it in relationships, people, work. I seek it out like water to a thirsty desert traveler. I know I need more than myself to become what I am capable of inside. I am afraid of being judged by those chewed up, imperfect outer petals to show what is inside – perfect folds of almost unnatural beauty.

Maybe some blooms just need a little gentle, nourishing encouragement. Someone outside saying “Bloom, baby. Bloom. I know you can.”

Personal projects are as important to me as personal care and self-preservation. It’s so easy to put things off, but even the littlest bit of care can go a long way. The voices in your head that scream about tasks that need attention, the work I have to do and chores that need immediacy are noisy in my head. “I’ll do that fun thing tomorrow…next time…next week…” Before you know it, time has devoured you and your inspiration.

A few weeks ago, the local Farmer’s Market opened back up. I don’t frequent it enough, but my household had all woken up particularly early last Saturday morning and there was little in the my home in terms of breakfast items. I also had a busy 10-hour shoot ahead of me that afternoon and wanted nothing more than to spend a little quality time with my child, so I marched around the house turning off all screens and beckoning him to brush teeth and throw on some clothes and away we went – just the two of us. We were on a mission. It felt like an adventure as we never really leave the house early on the weekends. It’s hard to make it a priority. There is too much racing around during the week for me to be bothered rushing around on the weekends, too. I often like to linger around on Saturdays wandering aimlessly through the day and falling into whatever crosses my path. But I knew this was my only chance to A) feed my people and B) spend time with my son before my long day.

We foraged through the market, wandering from booth to booth looking for the perfect bounty for a lovely, homemade breakfast. First on the list was farm fresh eggs – a farmers market mission for me that particular morning. Next we sought out some brioche bread that was made that very morning – still a little warm from the oven only hours before. Next, we stumbled into a strawberry stand with the reddest and juiciest strawberries I had ever seen in my life. They were far too good to pass by without grabbing a pint…or two. We wandered on, passing by the pickles, relishes and meats to find a picture perfect bunch of fresh radishes to go with our warm, delicious bread. Finally, it was a quick detour to the lemonade stand we frequent for some fresh squeezed lemonade. Mission accomplished. Time to cook!

I wasn’t intending for this to happen, but in the instance of taking special time to care for myself and those around me, I became incredibly inspired. Unpacking this beautiful food made me want to do nothing more than pull my camera out. I wanted to preserve everything about it…the memory of the day, the colors, the gratitude. In a moment, the bread would be crumbs and shells would be cracked in the sink. The strawberries would be beheaded and eaten and the radishes topped and quartered. But in that moment and the filtered light coming through my dining room window, I had to chance to be inspired and do something I wanted to do instead of putting it off for another day. The opportunity to nourish my spirit to get through the day seemed equally as important as nourishment for my body to make it through the same tasks.

This personal project became so much more than honing my camera skills and getting more experience. It was about nourishment  – for me, for my child, for my creativity. It was all about feeding that hungry soul that I so often let fall by the wayside of life.

I had a dream last night.

A dream that you held me in your familiar arms and comforted me where I hurt the most. I breathed in the sweet fragrance of us that lingered on shirt and you kissed my sun-kissed, wind-blown hair that danced around my golden skin. We were young again. Free and wild and open and full. And in that space, you loved me like you did back then. As big as the mountains and trees. In that moment, I was enough.

And then, I awoke in my huge empty bed. Right next to the empty space you left in my heart. Yearning for love. Looking for that place once again.