This photo from 2020 came up as a social media memory today. When I went to reshare it and reflect on it, I discovered I had done just that a year ago and last year’s reflection was so beautiful.
October 30, 2024
I remember when I took this photo. It was a cool, quiet evening and I walked to Railroad Park by myself, set up my tripod, and just watched as the sun set and the resident ducks enjoyed the pond. As a silhouette, you can't see my face or any details. I actually have my back to the camera as I gaze over the pond. It's just the outline of me contrasted from the colors of the sky and reflection in the pond.
This image seems appropriate right now as many of the details of me seem a bit obscured, including my name as I feel a bit in limbo with all the bureaucracy that prolongs the process to make the change. I am no longer [old name] yet I don't feel like I've fully stepped into [new name] yet. Along with the fear of the unknown is a bit of intrigue at the details I get to fill in.
I’m in a different place today but the photo still feels impactful. It is a reminder of the rejuvenating solitude I made time for even in my marriage. He may have stopped joining me for most sunrises and sunsets as the years progressed, leaving an absence I definitely felt, but I kept showing up for these beautiful moments because they grounded me. They gave me space to just exist. They quieted my mind. These were the moments when I felt least lonely and most like myself.
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