a life worth living, scene by scene

pt. iii || a summer series

What do you do when you don’t know what to do?

You just keep on going.

You find anything - and everything - to do. And you make the most of it while you do.

The root of this “summer series” I’m sharing originally began with a collection of photographs that were taken and never shared over the last few months. They were taken to capture perfect, simple moments - the ones that didn’t cost a lot, the ones that few were witness to, the ones that stirred up something special inside. These moments, I believe, tell the greater story of what it means to build not only a “successful” life, but one worth living.

—

Whenever I feel a little lost, I go out to my goat pasture. Sometimes, they come running towards me, one by one, awaiting a scratch on the head or a nibble on the bottom of my sweatshirt. Sometimes, I seek them out, practically begging for their attention. I’ll talk to them about what they’re eating, about how silly they are, about how pretty the sunset looks over there. Or, I’ll just sit there, appreciating their company. It always makes me feel better, knowing these little lives depend on my love and care.

—

On Monday nights, Webb and I pour a drink and walk across the little creek, down the driveway, over to his parents’ little white farmhouse. Together, we cook dinner, discuss the day, and prepare for our weekly viewing of The Bachelorette (or The Bachelor, or Bachelor in Paradise, or the upcoming Golden Bachelor). This routine, this connection, is a balm after a long day back to work.

—

This past July, we went out to a Marina for drinks and lunch with friends. As we drove, storm clouds hovered in the darkening sky, but I insisted that we sit out on the patio. The waitress had just laid down our napkin-wrapped silverware when a large gust of wind and water blew chairs across the deck. Everyone ran inside to the small space, huddled around the bar, as the staff pulled down the garage doors and we waited out the rain. It was surreal. But it was a memory. United by this crazy, quick moment of nature, everyone safe, we just laughed (and took moody photos of cocktails).

—

We rarely make plans for the 4th of July, but this year we opted to grab some cheap snacks at the Dollar General, along with a bottle of rosé, and sit on the banks of the Duck River, listening to ‘70s yacht rock. No sparklers, anthems, or flags needed.

—

Lately, Webb’s been really into race cars, so for his birthday, we gathered together some family and friends, and went to the Nashville Speedway. Together, we cheered on the underdogs, drank cheap beers, and sweat through the heat before a massive lightning storm rolled in, cooling off the evening. It was loud. It was joyful. It was worth it.

—

Thistles are my favorite summertime weed. Hated by many, they are known for their thorny, stubborn endurance. They are dangerous, but beautiful, resilient. I decided to capture this one on film, composing a post in my head that never materialized. My blurry companion in the distance was an unexpected, but welcome, addition.

—

What a joy to discover that our favorite drive-in - which had closed last summer - had unexpectedly reopened. We camped out in the old farm truck, the one in which we had some of our very first dates, and ate some of the most delicious fried food that did not have to be as good as it was. We saw The Little Mermaid and stuck around through Indiana Jones. We got home at 2 AM - something we haven’t done in a very long time - and it was hard to shake the feeling that we hadn’t been out partying all night. Nope. Just some good, clean, innocent, country kid fun.

—

A hike to see the skyline with family and friends. Hot, humid, and still wonderful.

—

The world’s best donut from the most unexpected place - a small family shop in the middle of nowhere - which, come to think of it, is exactly where you might expect to find it, if you’re lucky enough.

—

We capture these moments to share them, but also to relive them, to come back to moments of uncertainty and peace and adventure and hope. Now, here’s some corn for your enjoyment, enjoyed by me on a random road trip:

So. Much. Corn. (it’s got the juice)