Life is made up of small, ordinary moments—ones we often overlook but that quietly shape our days. In January, I decided to capture some of those moments through a simple perspective: from where I stood. Each photo tells a story, a glimpse into the rhythm of my life.
• Letting the dogs outside – The familiar shuffle to the door, the burst of cold air, the wagging tails. A tiny act of love repeated every day.
• On the treadmill – The hum of movement, the steady rhythm of steps. A commitment to myself, even when it feels like a chore.
• In the car with a book – A stolen moment of stillness, words filling the space before the next thing begins.
• On the stairs at home – A pause between floors, a transition between moments. The in-between places of life.
• At the stove, making soup – Warmth rising, the smell of simmering broth filling the kitchen. A moment of care, both for myself and the people I love.
• Beside my toddler’s bed – The soft rise and fall of breath, the quiet weight of love. A moment I want to hold onto forever.
• At my new desk at work – A fresh start, an unfamiliar space slowly becoming mine. The promise of new routines.
• In the snow with my toddler – Laughter, footprints, and cold fingers. Seeing winter through their eyes makes it magic.
• Watching my toddler play – The sun on my face, the sounds of childhood filling the air. A reminder to slow down and just be.
These photos aren’t grand or extraordinary—they’re just the little moments that make up my days. But looking back at them, I see the quiet beauty in the ordinary, and from where I stand, that’s more than enough.
I have a habit of looking down. Not in a metaphorical way, but literally—at my own feet, at the ground beneath me, at the space I occupy in a given moment. “From where I stand” started as a simple photography prompt in college, a way to capture the passing of time through the smallest, most mundane details. The shoes I wore, the floors I walked on, the places that felt like mine for a season.
It became more than just a creative exercise. It was a way to mark time, to recognize the routines and moments that seemed permanent until, one day, they weren’t. The things I did every day—walking a certain path, eating lunch at the same table, unlocking the same door—eventually slipped away, replaced by something new.
In college, “from where I stand” was often a sidewalk cutting across campus, a library floor worn smooth by late-night studying, the entrance to my first real job where I felt equal parts eager and unqualified. My world was small but full of possibility, shaped by new friendships, the weight of books in my bag, and the feeling that everything was just beginning.
Then came the days of being newly married, of standing in new places and doing everything together, just because we could. The world opened up in a different way—road trips, a tiny apartment, the quiet joy of figuring out how to share a life. I took photos of our front porch, of the trails we explored with our new pup, of the kitchen where we played house before we really knew what that meant.
As I stepped into leadership at work, I found myself in meetings, in offices where decisions had consequences, in the spaces where people looked to me for guidance. It was a different kind of adventure, one that required more confidence than I sometimes had. But I captured it anyway—the conference room tables, the leaves on the ground on my way into a meeting, the moments in between where I caught my breath and reminded myself that I could do this.
And now, motherhood. The ground beneath me is softer—nursery rugs, playground mulch, the carpet where I sit cross-legged with a toddler on my lap. My world became both smaller and infinite, measured in first steps, bedtime stories, and the quiet hush of a sleeping house. I take fewer of these photos now, but when I do, they mean more. These are the days I know I’ll look back on and wonder how they slipped away so fast.
From where I stand, life keeps changing. The routines that feel permanent will fade, replaced by new ones I haven’t even imagined yet. But for now, I capture what I can, hold onto the moments, and keep my feet firmly planted in the present.
Back again, back again. Setting goals, choosing a word, and a reason for a fresh start really never gets old to me. This is my 13th year with a word and I’m just as excited as when I first chose “joy” back in 2013. When I started this One Little Word journey I would have never expected play to be anywhere in my future line up – even just thinking it makes me itchy. I’m not a very playful person, preferring routines and productivity instead. A lot of my words reflect that but when I pick a word, I try to tie it to expectations I have for the year, a decision I’m trying to make, or an area where I clearly need to get out of my comfort zone. This word is definitely the latter. The words often tug at me or reappear in my life over and over until I can’t avoid it. When that happened this year, I tried to manipulate the idea of play into “fun” or “enjoy” instead, but I kept coming back to the definition:
Play (v): to engage in activity for enjoyment and recreation rather than a serious or practical purpose.
SAY IT LOUDER FOR THE PEOPLE IN THE BACK (of my mind): for enjoyment and recreation, rather than a serious or practical purpose. I need that. I crave that. I very rarely do something just for the heck of it. I’ve considered it in the past, but “play” resurfaced last year as I navigated 2024 with my word “whole”. The irony of choosing a word like whole is that it really helps you identify the holes…ba dum tss. These words feel like they are companion words of sorts, the two together allowing me to have the bigger picture of what I’m looking for. It really boils down to the structure of my life and taking things a little less seriously. I’m really excited to see how this word unfolds and how it challenges me throughout this year.
As part of my prep work (alongside my Powersheets Goal Planner), I like to outline my intentions and create a vision board that aligns with my word and goals. All of these feel so cohesive to me and I love them so much. This is overkill, but here ya go.
My Vision Board:
ChatGPT helped me create the one below and I thought it was really playful and whimsical.
My Intentions:
⭐️ Play is an invitation to embrace adventure and curiosity. I want to say “yes” to spontaneity and unexpected invitations. I want to explore new places, try new activities, and enjoy simple wonders.
⭐️ Play is an invitation to nurture joy through creativity; to dedicate time to projects *just because*. I want to experiment with art, crafts, and hobbies – letting fun guide me instead of perfection.
⭐️ Play is an invitation to look for laughter and lightness in ordinary routines.
⭐️ Play is an invitation to prioritize rest and ease. I want holistic wellness to be a non-negotiable and I want to do more things to fill my cup.
⭐️ Play is an invitation to stay present and grateful.
My Mantra:
“I embrace play, spontaneity, and joy—filling my days with adventure, creativity, and care for my whole self. Fun is who I am becoming, and wonder is the path I choose.”
Every year when I sit down to write this exact post, I’m tempted to say how incredibly quick the last year has gone and that I can’t believe we’re here again and I’m picking yet another word. Don’t get me wrong, I love a fresh new year with my whole new set of goals (I’m sure that’s crystal clear by now) but dang, I didn’t expect to be back here so soon and with so few updates in between. This spot on the internet is one of my favorites, but one that seems to fall by the wayside a bit when things get hectic. I absolutely love data, trends, and seeing how my life has looked in different seasons and this truly is the best place I can do that. Having these posts archived online allows me to see the person I was on January 1st for the last 9 years (!!) and is there really anything more spectacular than that? I just took a trip down memory lane, so leaving these links here in case you’d like to as well.
