Things returning slowly

The light

I’ve been paying more attention lately. Noticing things again.
Perhaps it’s the arrival of spring. Perhaps it’s also the new camera I recently invested in.

The light especially.

My bedroom and my office share the same morning. The sun comes in low through the backyard, still slipping through the bare trees for now, and reaches all the way inside. When I sit down to work, it’s already there on the table.

Then slowly, the patch of light on the table and walls gets smaller and smaller until the room is just itself again.

I think that’s part of why I’ve been taking more photos lately outside of work too. Nothing specific. Just moments I want to remember properly while they’re still here.

The leaves are starting to return now as well. Every day they seem slightly bigger than the day before. Soon the light won’t reach this far inside anymore.

And maybe part of why I’ve been noticing all of this so much lately is because life feels very different these days.

Things I still miss

The other day I was walking through Stockholm with a caramel macchiato in my hand and suddenly remembered my years working in Asia. Airports. Early flights. Team meetings. Corporate offices. The feeling of constantly moving somewhere.

And strangely, I realized I miss parts of that life sometimes.

I don’t miss the pressure or constantly trying to hold everything together. But I do miss certain things:
the rhythm of colleagues around you,
walking into an office on a Monday morning,
being surrounded by movement, conversations, shared routines.

I think when we change our lives, we expect ourselves to fully leave the old one behind. But maybe it’s more honest than that.

Maybe we carry affection for certain parts while still knowing we needed a different life.

I think that’s also why I’ve become more interested in photographing founders and creatives in seasons of transition.

Seasons of change

Over the past year, I’ve met women rebuilding businesses, changing direction, letting go of office spaces, simplifying offers, starting over, or simply growing into a different version of their work.

And what I’ve noticed is that change rarely looks obvious while it’s happening.

Most of the time, it looks very ordinary.

A different routine.
A smaller setup.
A new pace.
A new priority.

But underneath it, an entire identity is rearranging itself.

And perhaps that’s also why this spring has stayed with me so much.

Maybe part of what I’m feeling is simpler than nostalgia.

Maybe I just don’t want to miss my own life this time.

The flower buds.
The morning light reaching the table.
The season before the trees fully change again.

I think there were years when life moved so quickly that I didn’t fully notice it while I was inside it.

And now, somehow, I want to pay attention before this season disappears too.

Some seasons of life ask us to expand.
Others ask us to rebuild.
Others simply ask us to become someone new entirely.

And I think that’s what I’ve been noticing lately,
both in my own life and in the women I photograph.

Not big transformations.
Just small shifts happening slowly enough that you almost miss them while they’re unfolding.

Until one day you realize:
you’re no longer standing in the same season you were before.

x, Beatrix