Week 8 - Leaving the Wild, Carrying It With You
Leaving Alaska didn’t feel like an ending.
It felt more like stepping away from something that was still very much alive.
The bears were still there — moving through the grasses, digging for clams, following the same rhythms they had long before I arrived and would long after I left. Nothing paused because I was packing my bags. Nothing waited. And somehow, that made the leaving feel both easier and harder at the same time.
I didn’t feel finished.
I felt changed.
Leaving doesn’t always look like motion. Sometimes it’s just a quiet pause.
Back home, the noise returned slowly — familiar sounds, familiar schedules, familiar light. But my internal pace was different. Alaska had taught me to wait longer, to notice smaller movements, to sit with quiet without needing to fill it. I carried that stillness with me, even as daily life resumed.
Some places don’t fade when you leave — they settle in.
I began downloading images, but not with urgency. I wasn’t ready to decide anything yet. Some photographs revealed themselves immediately — strong, clear, confident. Others asked for time. And some were not meant to be shared.
This blog has always been about the journey, not the destination. What you see here are pieces of the story as it unfolds — moments chosen for where they belong in the telling, not necessarily where they will belong in the book. The book will be different. Slower. Deeper. Some images need distance before they can be understood.
Some stories remain long after the moment has passed.
What stayed with me most wasn’t any single photograph.
It was the feeling of being fully present — of watching without interrupting, of learning when to move and when to stay still. Alaska didn’t ask me to speak for it. It asked me to listen.
Even then, I could feel it — this wasn’t a one-time experience. The seed had been planted quietly, without ceremony. I didn’t yet know what shape it would take, only that the story wasn’t finished.
Alaska doesn’t stay in Alaska.
It follows you home.
It changes how you see light, time, connection.
And once you’ve carried that kind of wild with you, you don’t ever really set it down.
The journey continues.
