January 2026: Learning to Wander Again

January was quiet on the blog.

Not because I stopped photographing.

Not because I stopped going outside.

But because my mind was loud.

I spent much of January stuck in what I now recognize as analysis paralysis—constantly asking myself where is this all going? What is the end state? What do I want my life, my photography, my work to look like in the long run?

And that question, instead of motivating me, completely suffocated me.

I was so focused on the final destination that I stopped allowing myself to simply wander. I kept asking, “Is this the thing?”

Is this the project?

Is this the path?

Is this worth it?

Looking back, I can see how trapped I was in my head.

And yet… I was still out there.

I was still birding. I even saw Tuxedo the Duck again!! (above picture)

Still walking trails.

Still standing quietly in the cold air, scanning trees and shorelines.

Still lifting my camera when a bird appeared, heart steady, breath calm.

I caught this INCREDIBLE sunset one evening when birding.

When I look at the photos I took in January, something became very clear to me:

I wasn’t in my mind during those moments.

I was present.

Red-Tailed Hawk

Red-Tailed Hawk

I was listening for wingbeats.

Watching light move across feathers.

Feeling fresh air fill my lungs.

Enjoying the simple act of being in wild spaces.

That’s the part I almost missed while overthinking everything else.

Kestrel

Great Blue Heron

Some of these winter adventures included my adventure buddy, Finnegan—who made it very clear that he does not believe rain suits are a necessary invention. While I was happily wandering through damp trails and fresh air, Finnegan expressed his protest through dramatic pauses, questionable looks, and a general “I did not sign up for this” attitude. Even so, he came along, reminding me that not every part of the journey needs to be serious—and that sometimes the best moments come with a bit of laughter and a soggy companion.

Photography—at its core—has never been about the outcome for me. It’s about what happens while I’m out there. The quiet. The focus. The way the world narrows down to what’s right in front of me. The way time softens when I’m watching birds go about their lives, completely unconcerned with my plans, goals, or five-year visions.

Female Harlequin Ducks Standing on Kelp

Crow

January reminded me of something important:

I don’t need to have it all figured out to keep moving.

I don’t need a perfectly defined end state to keep showing up.

And I don’t need to know what comes of my photography for it to matter.

What I love most is being out there—in the wild, in fresh air, in the present moment. And that’s enough.

Northern Pintail

Anna's Hummingbird

This month was a lesson in tuning out the noise of the outside world, quieting the pressure I put on myself, and returning to what grounds me. A reminder to focus less on the destination and more on the journey unfolding right now.

As I look ahead, I’m not setting rigid goals for 2026. Instead, I’m collecting experiences. Adventures. Moments of curiosity. Time spent wandering, learning, and paying attention.

Female Hummingbird

And I got a new species for my life list! A Brown Creeper!

Brown Creeper

Brown Creeper

So if January was quiet here, it wasn’t empty.

It was full—just in a quieter, more inward way.

And there’s more to come.

Stay tuned to see where the wandering leads.