Gathering Moments

Life is a plot line.

We are born, time passes, stuff happens and then we die.

End of story.

(All photos by LBG.)

When we're growing up, many of us spend a lot of time focusing on the job, the salary, the house, and all the rest of it -- all the achievements that shore up the structure of our lives. The so-called "big stuff."

(London, 2010.)

But if we're lucky, there will come a day when we realize that the big stuff isn't what matters most. Sure, all the challenges and triumphs are important. But what lies in between them  -- in all those spaces and crevices brimming with small unheralded moments -- is where we are really given the chance to live meaningfully. 

Take your morning cup of coffee, for example. It's nothing special unless you invest it with significance. 

But how do you do that?

Maybe you suddenly appreciate the thick velvety silence that surrounds you while the rest of the world sleeps. Or maybe you listen to the birds outside and realize that no matter what happened yesterday, they always wake up optimistic for the future. Or maybe you are reminded of a photo you once saw of Elizabeth Taylor sipping coffee on a yacht in the Sardinian sea. Or maybe you just are grateful that the crick in your neck is gone. 

That's the crazy-simple secret of a satisfying life: appreciating as many of these teeny tiny little moments as you can.

Once you open your eyes and your heart to them, you will find them everywhere.

In a pair of unlikely friends.

(Ford and Paul. Photograph by Jeanne Tripplehorn.)

In the dwindling rays of sunlight falling across a vast plain of possibility.

(Sunset in the Moroccan desert, 2009.)

In the cheerful warmth of a favorite room.

(Home, 2012.)

In a sweaty handful of wildflowers.

(Normandy, France, 2007.)

In the promise of a blackberry cardamom almond cake fulfilled.

(Home, 2012. Recipe from Scandalicious, HERE.)

In the joy of being able to lose yourself in your work.

(detail, "On the Price of Beauty",  2010.)

In the late afternoon hike no one wanted to go on and everyone ended up glad they did.

(Hollywood Hills, 2011.)

In ten minutes of not moving a muscle.

(Home, 2012.)

In the private unveiling of one perfect flower.

(Home, 2012.)

All these things will melt into you and become part of you, if you let them.

Let them.

x/Lisa