

A few years ago, the world felt loud and heavy (let’s be real, it still is!), and I found myself on my hands and knees searching for whatever motivation I could scrape off the studio floor. At some point, I realized that my poor health was dimming my ability to see—not the “check your histogram” kind of seeing, but the soul kind.
That season taught me how gratitude and creativity are deeply connected—and how easily we lose both when life gets noisy.
The tiny flicker of light on a napkin, the shadow that makes a dish feel moody, the little details that usually light me up inside… they were still there. I just wasn’t noticing them.
So when my therapist said, “Why don’t you start a gratitude journal?” I actually laughed. Like, out-loud laughed.
“You want me to write down three things I’m thankful for? Like Thanksgiving every day?”
But life loves to clown you in the sweetest ways. I rolled my eyes and tried it anyway. And slowly—very slowly—it stopped feeling silly. What started as this awkward little exercise turned into one of the most surprising creative resets I’ve ever given myself.
It changed how I hold space for details—and honestly, how I show up as a human.
My first attempt at a nightly gratitude list was… rough. I’d sit there staring at the page like it personally offended me. My brain would offer up the bare minimum: “Coffee. Air conditioning. Uh… my pen?” Truly Pulitzer-level stuff.
But after a couple of weeks of fighting it, something cracked open. That tiny five-minute ritual stopped feeling like homework and started feeling like a warm-up—like stretching before a creative workout.
And without even noticing it at first, I started paying attention again. Not the big, flashy, Hollywood moments, but the quiet stuff I’d been stepping over.
It hit me one afternoon while I was standing in my kitchen, watching this soft strip of gold afternoon light slide across my counter. A nothing moment, really. But my brain went, Hey… that’s kinda beautiful.
Suddenly, I was seeing everything: the smell of the street after it rains, the half-eaten pastry that looked more honest than the pristine one beside it, the way my husband laughed at something dumb on TV.
That’s when I realized gratitude wasn’t changing my days—it was changing me.
I started ending my nights thinking, Dang… I actually had a good day, didn’t I?
That shift changed the way I create. Gratitude quieted the mental noise long enough for ideas to sneak through. It made me quicker on set, calmer when things went sideways (which, let’s be honest, is every shoot), and braver when I needed to pivot.
This is where gratitude and creativity begin working together—slowing the chaos so presence can take over.
When you stop obsessing over what’s missing and start noticing what’s already showing up for you, creativity breathes differently. It gets deeper, steadier, more awake.
And that’s where the real magic starts.
I was diagnosed with ADHD this past year, and I’ve started swapping out the digital noise for things that feel slower and kinder. Paper books instead of phone glare. Real radio with real DJs instead of Spotify shouting playlists at me.
And my laptop? That thing sleeps in a whole different room, like it’s on a timeout.
Somewhere in this analog comeback tour, handwriting my gratitude entries just… sticks. And honestly? I’m not surprised. I love writing things down. There’s something weirdly soothing about dragging ink across a page.
I look forward to wrapping up my day with this tiny ritual. I sit in my reading chair, pull out my notebook, and write down the things that made the day good.
These analog habits became another way gratitude and creativity quietly work together, sharpening how I notice and respond to the world.
Sometimes it’s meaningful, like finally trusted my gut on a client concept. Other days it’s Trader Joe’s frozen naan hits again. Both count. Both matter. Both are mine.
What blows my mind is how these slow, analog choices have sharpened my creative instincts. I’m noticing more. Feeling more. Seeing more—which is literally the whole job.
It’s the same rhythm as photography: be present, look closer, let things breathe.
In a world that wants us all to run at full speed, gratitude has become my reminder to slow the hell down. Because sometimes the best creative breakthrough doesn’t come from pushing harder—it comes from paying attention.
Here’s the practical truth: gratitude has made me a better problem solver, a better collaborator, and a hell of a lot more patient.
When a client changes direction mid-shoot or a prop falls apart, I don’t spiral. I adjust. I adapt. I find a new angle—literally and metaphorically.
That shift in mindset gives me freedom. Freedom to take creative risks. Freedom to play. Freedom to trust that if I show up with intention and appreciation, the image will show up for me too.
A gratitude journal might sound simple—maybe even cheesy—but it’s become my creative calibrator. It sharpens my eye, stretches my resilience, and reminds me to seek the “best light,” both in my work and in my day.
Because when you start paying attention to what’s good, everything—your art, your process, your outlook—starts looking a little more radiant.
This daily practice reinforced how gratitude and creativity support better decisions, stronger instincts, and more meaningful work.
If your next campaign demands a photographer who brings intentionality, emotional intelligence, and sharp creative perception to every frame, let’s talk.
Book a creative consultation to create meaningful, visually compelling work that sees beauty—and gratitude—in every detail.
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