cedars and palms

Growing up in Montana, I’d spend afternoons that faded into sunsets in any body of water I could throw myself into — lakes, rivers, the local pool. You’d think I was born with gills. Those waters held me, but still, it felt like there was more. It wasn’t until a trip to the ocean at age twenty that I understood what was missing. Something so big you couldn’t possibly get to know it all in a lifetime. As foreign as it was, it felt like home.

The ocean wears different moods depending on when and where you meet it. This trip began on Vancouver Island, with its icy waters, ancient trees standing guard on the beach, and bundling up in a sweater after surfing. Then to the Island of O’ahu, where the water is warm, palm trees sway in the breeze, and a bikini was the daily uniform.

Hours slipped by in the water. It wasn’t until it was too dark to see that we knew it was time to return to dry land.

From Above

One plane to another, to a train, to a short walk through the city, to Harbor Air in the Vancouver Harbor. I couldn’t believe my luck to have a clear day to fly — the days prior were a monsoon. It was a special way to experience the island for the first time. From the float plane, the water was like looking through a window. You could see right through until the dark blue depth consumed the light. The terrain inland was a maze of near-vertical peaks that touched the clouds. Networks of logging roads scarred the surface — from above, it appeared as if ants had made these impossible switch-backed roads. Then, the end of the island where it merged with the Pacific. The water was dotted with smaller islands, and the coastline was dense with trees. The beauty from above sparked my excitement to see it all up close.

Haze blanketed the morning, heavy and calming. Light filtered through the cathedral of trees, like stained glass. It felt like being caught in the forest’s dream.

A Small Win

This photo felt like a small victory. I experimented, and it turned out. I carefully balanced my camera on a rock (who needs a tripod), set the timer, and dialed the shutter to 2 seconds. Click. Crossed my fingers. This is the first shot I looked for after I got the film back.

There were moments on the island that left me without words. Even now, it’s hard to sum up my feelings. The way the afternoon sun sparkled on the water, an otter running on the beach, cooking dinner by candlelight, meals shared with friends, stargazing while sipping rosé, the jammy taste of handpicked thimbleberries, slow mornings, bundled up on the beach drinking tea.

The next stop — Hawaii. I traded five mils of neoprene and booties for bare skin and sunscreen. I kept checking my flight — it felt a little unreal that I was getting to spend time in these two incredible places back to back.

The first thing that hit me was the warm breeze of the trade winds, followed by a truck full of laughing friends, hugs, and a lei over my neck. Another special first experience in a place I’d never been. A phrase I kept thinking to myself, ‘I’m so lucky.’ I get to walk alongside so many people at I admire. We’ve shared some of the highest and lowest moments together. Life is full of that duality, but having people like this on your side makes the journey.

As long as I’ve known Nirvana, she’s had these flip-flops. Every trip, I’d laugh that they were somehow still in one piece. These flops reached their final resting place — let’s have a moment for the shoes.

aks megs about the fish and what it mean’s to Hawaiians

A recent reflection keeps circling in my head. I often felt like I needed to ask permission to live my life. Why? Where does this feeling come from? And who the hell am I asking?! I think back to moments I’d cram myself to fit into a space. Looping doubts, ‘Should I be doing this? This caption isn’t funny. You’re too sensitive.’ I hid the fullness of who I was.

But there was another side. The side that cared deeply and wasn't afraid to show it. Who loved fully. Who wasn’t worried about falling flat on her face. This was a part of me that I loved, and it was starting to emerge. Instead of letting her grow, I buried her.

For a moment, I lost who I really was. My spark was gone. I fought hard to get myself back, and I’ve learned there’s power in my softness. Sometimes showing this vulnerable side feels like jumping out of a plane without a parachute.

With every leap, I’ve been caught with gentle hands. Each moment of safety has built trust and shown me that it’s okay to be myself.

This experience made me realize my deepest fear isn't judgment, it’s handing my power over to someone else.
When moments of doubt creep in, I ask myself, ‘What do I want to do about this situation?’ instead of ‘What should I do?’ This small shift in language gave me power back.

Like the cedars and palms — I’m learning when to stand strong, when to be soft, and when to dance in the breeze.

Canon K2 Rebel // Porta 400 // Kodiak Gold 200

Scans from Essential Photo // Salt Lake City, UT

September 2025