Making Space for Presence and Play

Making Space for Presence and Play

This morning I realized something about presence and play.

Not in a loud, resolution-filled way. Not with fireworks or declarations.
But quietly—through breath, cold air, and the simple act of paying attention.

When I think about what I want this year to be, and what I wish for you—the kind soul reading these words—I don’t wish for more productivity or more pressure to “get it right.”

I wish for presence.
And I wish for play.

The kind of play that invites you in completely. The kind that draws your attention so fully that the rest of the world gently steps aside.

A Quiet Winter Morning of Presence and Play

This realization came to me on an ordinary winter morning. At 9:30, I headed out to do chores and visit my horses. I’ve challenged myself this year to create one photograph a day, so I brought my camera along, hoping to capture snowflakes caught in their manes.

Well, snow pellets aren’t very interesting, but I did like the ice pellets on Phoenix’s tail, so that’s what I consider a win.

Chicka’s tail looked like a feather, so that’s what I photographed.

On the drive home, I noticed hoar frost clinging to the trees and long grasses swaying in the wind. Something about it felt worth lingering with. Worth seeing.

Then I realized the bird feeders were empty, so I filled them.

Almost immediately, birds gathered—on the feeders, on the ground—happily picking at seeds, flying off, and returning again moments later.

As I walked back toward the truck to grab my camera, I noticed something else.

The cats.

Sitting in two different windows, warm and dry, clearly uninterested in stepping outside into the cold—yet completely intent on watching it. Wanting to see without being in it.

Their view of the snowy world beyond the glass reflected back at me in the window, layered and quiet. Inside and outside meeting in the same frame.

It stopped me.

A reminder that sometimes presence doesn’t mean charging headfirst into the elements—it simply means noticing. Seeing. Letting the moment come to you.

I stayed.

Sitting in deep snow photographing birds, the cold didn’t even register. I watched them, photographed them, appreciated them and enjoyed them.

Then I shifted to macro shots of frost and grasses. This meant experimenting, adjusting, trying things that worked and things that didn’t.

I wasn’t documenting for anyone else.
I wasn’t creating for a deadline.
I was simply there.

How Presence and Play Found Me Again

When the cold finally sent me back inside, I glanced at the clock.

An hour and a half had passed.

In that moment, I understood how presence and play work together—how being fully absorbed in something simple can bring you right back to yourself.

I had been playing.

Trying new things. Discovering what caught my eye. Learning how to adapt. Moving my body. Engaging my mind. Creating something purely because it felt good to do so.

Play, I realized, isn’t childish.
It’s not frivolous.
That’s how we learn, how we remember joy, how we reconnect with ourselves.

In that moment, I understood how presence and play work together—how being fully absorbed in something simple can bring you right back to yourself.

What This Past Christmas Taught Me About Presence

This past Christmas reinforced the same truth.

The lists. The wrapping. The things—it all fades quickly. What stays are the moments. The conversations. The pauses. The time spent truly with one another.

Presence is what lingers.

This past Christmas reminded me that presence and play are often what we remember most, long after the gifts are put away.

And play is one of the most natural gateways to presence. When we’re playing, we’re not multitasking. We’re not rushing ahead. We’re not replaying the past. We’re here.

Presence Over Performance

Being present doesn’t require a grand gesture. It asks only that we show up where we are—fully, honestly, imperfectly.

Sometimes that looks like sitting in the snow with a camera.
Sometimes it looks like laughter around a table.
Sometimes it looks like choosing not to rush the moment away.

Why Play Is Essential for a Present Life

Through play, we learn.
We move our bodies.
We stretch our creativity.
We engage our minds.
We create space for joy to arrive without forcing it.

Play is not a reward for finishing everything else.
It is part of living well.

This is why presence matters so deeply in the stories I photograph—especially in legacy and storytelling work. Check out this post that explains why it’s so important for you to be photographed.

Research continues to show that play isn’t optional — it’s essential for our creativity, emotional regulation, and overall well-being. Psychology Today explores how play helps adults reconnect with curiosity, reduce stress, and remain present in their lives.

Making Space for Presence and Play in 2026

So as we move into 2026, this is my wish for you:

Make space for presence.
Make room for play.

Not someday. Not when things calm down.
But today. And tomorrow. And in the small, ordinary moments that quietly become the ones that matter most.

Remember friends, be present, be in the moment, be in the picture.

If you’re ready to be in the picture, let’s chat.

Big love,
Carla