March 30, 2007 (note: this photo/story has gotten over 35,000 views on Flickr)

The first bit is sucky. But then it gets better.

A year ago today I was rushed into emergency surgery after it was discovered that I had an ectopic pregnancy. My fallopian tube had burst, making me lose more than half my blood. When I woke up, the doctor told me that if I'd arrived at the hospital half an hour later, I may not have made it.

I looked at myself in the mirror, bloated and almost unrecognizable. But when I saw my big puffed up face and the incisions on my belly, I felt beautiful and alive. So grateful that I had more to learn and discover and experience.

It wasn't long after that I re-discovered my camera. I began documenting life obsessively. My first project was photographing details of Park Slope, Brooklyn, street by street. All my senses were heightened. I saw and captured details that I never before would have noticed. And people began to respond.

I felt a weird guilt attached to photography initially. Was I missing out on life because I was behind the camera all the time? Was I capturing the routines of others at the expense of doing my own thing?

No.

A new world was discovered. I was able to tap into my creativity, which had been somewhat smothered by, well, the way I thought I was supposed to live. For my entire life I'd been envious of people who had passion. Something they had to do. Suddenly photography was that thing for me.

In the past year, I have been able to stop worrying so much about what people think of me. I've made a fool of myself and have encouraged others to follow in my footsteps. A year ago, I never would have imagined, for example, taking a photo of myself in my underwear, much less creating an entire week around it and watching people jump right in... [This photo was part of International Underwear Week - a "holiday" I created.]

I've turned down good full-time jobs and have made it a rule to only do the type of work that makes me feel "warm & fuzzy". I can't buy as many new clothes or go out to dinner as much. But I'm happier than I've ever been.

Throughout the year I've had to make some extremely tough decisions. I've learned to follow my gut when it comes to life, work, love. It's not always easy - for me or for those around me. My happiness is my responsibility - no one else's. And I take that responsibility seriously.

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I feel like I should add a poem or something, so this just popped into my head. It's by Shel Silverstein:

Sandra's seen a leprechaun,
Eddie touched a troll,
Laurie danced with witches once,
Charlie found some goblins' gold.
Donald heard a mermaid sing,
Susie spied an elf.
But all the magic I have known
I've had to make myself.
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I thought I'd make a big deal of the photo I posted for today, but I ended up just snapping a couple on a whim. It's not perfect. I'm not perfect. I'm just me.

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March 30, 2008

Last year on this day I told my story about how I'd been in the hospital on March 30, 2006.

One year ago I was feeling inspired and upbeat and positive. I spent the day with someone I loved. I had just started a beautiful, passionate relationship with someone.

I'm still living my life as I want to. Making difficult choices and moving towards my goals.

But tonight I'm feeling really, really sad. It hit me all at once.

Two people I love are no longer in my life. They're the two people I'd want to talk to most today. And if I called them, they'd answer and they'd support me and love me. But I can't use them as shoulders to cry on. I need to move forward. And I need to let them move forward.

In a fit of tears, I called a girlfriend of mine who said all the right things. And I appreciate and love her (and all my friends and family) so much.

I want so badly for everything to fall in place. I want my photography to sustain me. I want to inspire people to be themselves and to have fun and to follow their hearts and dreams. I want love. I want a family.

And I wholeheartedly believe that all of these things will happen. Maybe I just have to go through this (and more?) before it all can.

I'll tell you this, though - whether I'm happy or sad or angry or amused or depressed or confused or, well, whatever emotion you can think up -- it's so great to just feel.

Last year I included a Shel Silverstein poem. I'm gonna do it again. I opened to a random page and this is what was there:

FEAR
Barnabus Browning
Was scared of drowning,
So he never would swim
Or get in a boat
Or take a bath
Or cross a moat.
He just sat day and night
With his door locked tight
And the windows nailed down,
Shaking with fear
That a wave might appear.
And he cried so many tears
That they filled up the room
And he drowned.

The fact that I opened to that is kinda cracking me up. Yay!

:)