The Beauty in Discomfort

I’ve been thinking about how much energy I’ve spent worrying.

Worrying about money. About the future. About whether I’ve done enough, been enough, become enough. Sometimes I catch myself replaying old conversations, wondering if I messed something up. Or thinking about what I’ve lost instead of what I’ve learned.

But the truth is, every time I give my energy to worry, I’m taking it away from something better.

We have two choices.

We can either spend our energy to worry…

Or we can use it to enjoy, create, manifest, heal, grow, and glow.

That doesn’t mean pretending everything is okay when it’s not. It just means I’m learning to sit with the discomfort, and still find something good in it. Even if it’s small. Even if it’s quiet.

Some of the most meaningful parts of my life came out of the hardest moments.

When I lost almost everything and had to start over, I picked up my camera—not to chase work or impress anyone—but just to feel something real again.

And somehow, that led me back to myself.

Back to the kind of life I want to live.

A simple life. A creative one. One where I notice the light, even on heavy days.

Photography has taught me to look for that. To find beauty in places I used to overlook. In chipped paint. In silence. In someone’s tired eyes. In my own reflection when I’m not trying to be anyone else.

I still have days where worry creeps in. I still feel stuck sometimes. But I remind myself, I get to choose what I do with my energy.

I can spiral… or I can soften.

I can panic… or I can pause.

I can keep worrying about the life I thought I’d have, or I can create something beautiful from the one I’m living right now.

Some days I’m just trying to make it to the next one. But even then, I can choose to step outside. To breathe in the air. To take a photo just because it moved me. To sit in the silence and be okay with not having all the answers yet.

And when I look back, I realize that those small choices—day after day—are what pulled me through. Not a big fix. Not a perfect plan. Just presence. Just showing up in the middle of it all and saying, “this is hard, but I’m here.”

So that’s what I’m doing.

Not perfectly. But with intention.

A little more joy. A little more trust. A little more presence in the middle of the unknown.

That’s where the beauty lives.