Today, I picked up a camera again.
Not just any camera—but the feeling of one. The connection to nature, to myself, to that quiet creative rhythm I had almost forgotten. It’s been a long time since I wandered with a camera in hand, seeing the world through that small frame that somehow always managed to make things feel bigger.
What surprised me was how easily some of it came back. Like riding a bike, or returning to an old song you used to know by heart. My eyes began to scan light differently. My fingers adjusted instinctively. Muscle memory took over—and with each click of the shutter, I felt something inside me realign.
Photography was one of my first loves. It started when my dad gave me a Pentax K1000. That solid, beautiful piece of machinery became my constant companion. I carried it everywhere. I was a photo hoarder from the start—filling drawers and boxes with film rolls and prints, chasing light, faces, places, and feelings. I don’t want to think about the money I spent over the years on film and processing. But I also wouldn’t trade a single dollar of it.
There’s something magical about being behind the lens—watching the world slow down just enough for you to capture it. Photography taught me how to see, how to notice, and how to pause. It was never about perfection. It was always about presence.
Today, as I stepped back into this familiar rhythm, I remembered how photography had once been a quiet, faithful friend. Always there. Always ready.
And now, I’m ready to see again.
If there’s something you used to love—something that once grounded you or made you feel alive—maybe it’s time to find your way back to it. You might be surprised how naturally it returns.
