This has become one of my favorite photos of us lately, and not just because we are killing it in matching plaid.
It was taken at the petrified waterfalls of Hierve al Agua in the mountains of Oaxaca, Mexico a little over a year ago. It’s the obvious precursor to this photo, which looks much more intentional, but if I’m being honest, doesn’t speak to me the same way.
The first photo – here it is again for clarity (and also because I seriously never tire of looking at it) – was accidental.
But even so, it tells the truer story. What you can’t see is that we’re standing on wet rocks worn smooth by water flowing over the edge of the cliff behind us. And that cliff? It’s a real cliff, dropping over three hundred feet to the valley floor. The ground slopes dramatically away from us, towards the drop-off, and we’re wishing the tread on our shoes was a little newer.
This image captures us in the middle of things, the people we are between moments and before the shutter closes. We’re pushing the limits a little, and hopefully, lifting each other up.
So we’ve inched and slid our way over to as close to the edge as reasonable people venture. We hold on to each other, a little for balance but mostly because we like to. And as we’re negotiating footing and laughing at how clumsy five months of pregnancy has made me, I’m remembering all the other precipices we’ve stood on. The first one, four years before and a thousand miles away, when we met on a rooftop and tried to see who could get closer to the edge. Three years later, across an ocean at 18,000 feet on the Roof of Africa, and now this one – parenthood.
And while we we’re still reaching for balance, not quite as ready as we’d like, click.
That’s how it always happens.