A quieter way to live, notice, and remember
Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about how loud life feels.
Not in the obvious ways, but in the constant hum. The notifications. The endless scrolling. The pressure to keep up, document, share, respond. Somewhere along the way, convenience started to replace intention, and I don’t think I’m alone in feeling the weight of that.
So as a Trophy Club mom and photographer, instead of adding more goals, more systems, or more noise in 2026, I’m doing something different.
I’m choosing analog. Not as a trend. Not as a rejection of modern life. But as a way to come back to myself, my family, and the moments that deserve to be felt instead of rushed past.
Here’s what that looks like in real life.
Cooking a family recipe
Not something pulled up on a phone five minutes before dinner, but a recipe that carries a story. The kind written on an index card, smudged with flour, adjusted over time. Cooking together. Letting it be messy. Letting it be remembered.
A 365 film project
One photo on film every day for a year. And full transparency, I’m already five days behind as I write this. If you’re starting late, you’re in good company. This isn’t about discipline or perfection. It’s about noticing. Choosing to see the ordinary moments that usually slip by unnoticed.
Writing life down by hand
A real planner. A calendar you can touch. Pen on paper. There’s something grounding about writing your month out instead of tapping it into an app. You see your life differently when it’s laid out in ink. The commitments, the pauses, the space you need to protect.
Reading physical books
I love a real book. Turning pages slowly. Dog-earing corners. Underlining sentences that stay with me. Audiobooks still have a place, especially on long drives, but reading without multitasking feels like a quiet rebellion now. And one I’m happy to keep choosing.
Giving kids a disposable camera
Showing them how it works. Letting them photograph what they notice. The dog. Their shoes. The sky. Their sibling. Developing the roll. Printing the favorites. Seeing the world through their eyes instead of curating it through ours.
Getting outside without headphones
Walking. Riding bikes. Sitting on the porch. Noticing light, sound, movement. Remembering what life felt like before everything demanded our attention at once. More of that.
Sending postcards
From trips. From home. From ordinary days. A few sentences. A stamp. Something small landing in someone’s mailbox. It feels almost radical now, and maybe that’s why it matters.
Mailing your art
If you’re a creative, send it. A print. A photograph. A sketch. Let your work live in someone’s hands instead of just on a screen. Art doesn’t have to wait for permission or algorithms to matter.
Finding a pen pal
An old friend. A grandparent. Someone new. Letters without urgency. Conversations that unfold slowly. Words that get kept.
Journaling without rules
Not to be productive. Not to be polished. Just to remember. A few lines. A thought you don’t want to lose. A season you want to mark. Imperfect is more than enough.
Why does it matter?
This isn’t about nostalgia for nostalgia’s sake. It’s about legacy.
Years from now, we won’t remember how efficient our systems were. We’ll remember how it felt to sit at the table together. The sound of laughter. The weight of a photo in our hands. The handwriting of someone we love.
This is why I photograph the way I do. Why I choose film. Why I care so deeply about printed images, albums, and artwork that lives outside of phones. Photography was never meant to be disposable. It was meant to be held. Passed down. Returned to.
Choosing analog isn’t about going backward. It’s about choosing what lasts.
And if this season of life has taught me anything, it’s this: the moments worth remembering are usually the quiet ones. The ordinary ones. The ones that don’t announce themselves as important until much later.
Here’s to noticing them now.
If you’re interested in scheduling a film and super 8 movie session in Trophy Club. I would love to chat with you! Click here to reach out to me.
