The One with all the Happiness

Every idea originates somewhere.
You could be running a marathon. Riding an elephant through India. Dreaming on a train.
And then, out of nowhere, the most brilliant idea comes to you.
Like glitter raining from the sky.
It appears. You see it. You think about it. You fall in love with it.
You now can either take that idea and run or let it run away from you.

This idea, the one I had last week, I’m going to run with.
Who knows where it might take me, or us, or them…
But I’m in love with the unknown, so why not go somewhere new?
Try out an idea because we can.

For me this idea came when I was sprawled out on my bedroom floor, tearing through one of my photo albums.
I turned the page and there it was, this picture staring at me.

I am the girl on the left. No not Hanna, the girl with the long blonde hair looking over her shoulder. The other girl to the left. The one who is dancing. The one smiling.
The girl with her arms bent in the air, right high healed foot off the ground, wearing a short sparkly black dress and a crown of baby breathe in her hair.
That’s me.

This picture was taken during one of the most influential times in my life.
It was my last semester at St. Lawrence University, a charming liberal arts school in Northern New York. Graduation was 2 months away and I had everything I’d ever wanted within my grasp. A group of beautiful friends, a senior thesis project I was proud of, a future plan of living with hippies and working as a waitress for the summer, and the dream of living a life worth writing about.

I was all set. I was blissfully happy.
Can’t you see it?
Can’t you see that smile.
Every time I look at this picture I just want to start smiling like that.

Perhaps that’s how this idea started; with me smiling, over this picture.
While flipping through my high stack of photo albums, for some reason this one picture could bring joyful tears to my eyes.
Something began to happen to all of my other pictures after I saw this one. I started to look at them differently.
I looked at them as if I did not know these pictures belonged to me, as if I was not the girl in them.

Because these could be the pictures of anyone. Of you, of her, of all of us.
They made me feel proud of my life; of the life I was living.
As I turned the page of each photo album, I began pulling out photos; the ones that hung on the wall of my first apartment, the ones that followed me to Florida, the ones I glued in my journal when I went to India. Soon a pile assembled on the floor of all my favorite pictures.

The Pictures of my Life.

I was overwhelmed. What was I going to do with all of these pictures now that they were out of their albums? As I tried to scoop them up in my arms, I realized they no longer deserved to be hidden and kept in an album on a dusty shelf.
They deserved to be seen, to be written about.
I knew right then I would write the stories these pictures told.
I would bring the people to life and give the image a name.
Give the pictures a lesson, a moral, a theme.
Give them justice.
Give them peace.

That is what this blog is about. It is about starting something based on what we have.
I have these pictures and I have my writing, so why not do something with them?
Better yet together.
Pictures of Life is to be a creation of yours and mine.
If you see a picture you like, or that erupts in you a similar emotion or a memory from long ago, I encourage you to write about it. Leave a comment. Post a picture. Find a common theme and work with it, see where your mind takes you.
I have never had a blog before, and this too will be a learning experience for me. If you have any recommendations or ideas, please feel free to leave them.

So here begins a new idea.
A beautiful blog.
I will post a different picture and story every week and I would love for your support and constructive criticism to follow along.
Because why not?
Why not take this idea and run with it?  Spread the word, spread the message, spread the love.

Thank you to so many of you for making up the pictures of my life.
This idea could not have come to me without you.