Daffodils and the Return to Beauty
A quiet bundle of daffodils rests gently beside a cup of frothy comfort, wrapped in a ribbon the color of deep evening skies.
It’s 3 p.m., and today feels lighter than yesterday. Yesterday was rough—at least at work. Emotionally heavy. But interestingly, I didn’t carry that heaviness home. With my family, things felt peaceful.
Today, work was more manageable. I’m amazed by how much more adapted I’ve become to teaching. It used to feel like such a big thing—like I was constantly bracing myself for impact. Now it feels more natural, less demanding. Maybe that’s because I’ve developed more realistic expectations for myself… or maybe it’s just growth.
Whatever the reason, I’ve noticed that I no longer walk away from my day feeling drained. And I think I can finally say it with confidence:
I am a teacher.
A Shift in Rhythm
Evening Reflection
Now that I’m home, I’ve got a full evening ahead. First, I’m planning to finish editing A Year to Inspire: Week 12. Then I want to photograph the daffodils I picked up yesterday—they’re absolutely beautiful. And of course, there’s dinner.
This week, I’ve taken a break from Instagram. I didn’t plan it, it just happened—but I feel a little freer. There’s space to think, to be, to create without needing to share everything. I haven’t fully processed what that means yet, but I felt it today. And I want to give it more time.
I did the daffodil shoot, just like I planned. It’s been so long since I’ve done a styled photo session that I honestly stressed my way through it. I’m out of practice—but I’m proud of myself for showing up.
I’ve missed this side of photography. Since I started working, my photography shifted—from intentional beauty to simply documenting everyday life. And while I love both, I’ve realized I want to return to that slower, styled creativity as well. I want to do both.
“Sometimes the hardest part of returning to creativity is simple beginning.”
Dear Daffodils
You are a simple, beautiful flower. One of the first blooms of spring, you brighten the world with your soft yellows.
You stand strong, though always together—never alone in a vase. There’s a reason you don’t mix easily with other flowers, and I won’t hold that against you.
You’re always presented in a bunch, like sunshine gathered up and wrapped in string. Like the sunflower, you’re a promise of warmer days to come—a much-needed sign on cold March mornings.
You come in many varieties, each one quietly beautiful. You symbolize new beginnings, friendship, and hope. Once planted, you bloom again and again for decades.
And the best part? You’re not fickle. You’re easy to grow.
I’m reminding myself to plant hundreds of you this fall.
Love,
A flower lover
This post is a little bit of everything: teaching, rest, creativity, and flowers. It reflects where I’m at right now—a place of slow rebalancing. A place where I’m reclaiming parts of myself I’ve missed.
If you’re in a season of returning, I see you. It takes courage to begin again.
