When Healing Can Turn To Art.
It’s been quite a while since my last blog post. Life, as it tends to do, has been on a winning streak for the past few months — and I’ve had to step back, regroup, and focus on just getting through the day-to-day. But lately, I’ve started fighting back. In the process of reclaiming space for myself, I’ve found something beautiful: that healing, when we really allow it to happen, can transform into something creative — something that becomes art.
We all go through seasons where our hobbies, passions, and creative energy fall by the wayside. Work piles up, stress creeps in, and suddenly, the things that once brought us joy feel distant, like echoes from a past life. Adult responsibilities — sigh — tend to take center stage, and we push everything else to the side. Sometimes that’s necessary. But other times, it just feels unfair. That’s why it’s so important to take a step back. To pause. To give yourself permission to breathe, to reconnect with something softer, more human — more you. Whether that’s sticking your feet in the sand, sitting in silence under a tree, or just letting the world slow down for a bit.
For me, healing looks like movement and mindfulness. It shows up in running and hiking, in strength training and journaling, in a perfect shot of espresso, in booking a spontaneous flight somewhere new — and most of all, in photography. Photography has taught me something invaluable: that healing doesn’t always look like resting. Sometimes it looks like creating. Like getting outside. Like capturing something that moves you, even if only for a second. It turns reflection into something tangible. It makes peace visible.
Nāpali Coast. Hike to Hanakapi'ai Beach.
Recently, I traveled back to a place that is special in my heart — the Hawaiian island of Kaua’i. The first time I visited, a few years back, it was a whirlwind. I packed the days with excursions and tried to see as much as possible. I managed to grab a few photos, but my focus was more on checking things off a list than on actually being there.
This time was different.
Waimea Canyon.
This time, I let the island breathe with me. I took things slower — not because I had to, but because I needed to. I wandered without a set itinerary. I spent more time observing what was in front of me than I did planning the next move. I watched how the sands shaped the coastlines, how the wind felt through the trees, how time seemed to pause when I really paid attention.
And in those pauses, I found art.
Somewhere around the Red Dirt Waterfall, Waimea.
I wasn’t just taking pictures — I was capturing emotion. Capturing recovery. Turning stillness into story. I let the act of photographing become an extension of my healing. Each moment became a reminder that even in difficult seasons, there’s beauty to be found — and more importantly, there’s you to be found. Because healing isn’t always loud. Sometimes it’s quiet, patient, and deeply personal. Sometimes it looks like returning to a place, but seeing it with new eyes. Sometimes it looks like a shutter click — a moment frozen, not just in memory, but in meaning. If you’ve been feeling like you’re far from your creative self, I hope this reminds you: the art is still in you. Maybe it’s waiting. Maybe it’s changing. But it’s there. And when you begin to heal — even just a little — it will come find you again.
And maybe this time, you’ll recognize it as a part of your story.
Thanks for reading.
Special shout out to the crew of ‘Leila’. Despite the choppy waters - you handled it well.
