A few years into my journey with photography, I came across a book that quietly changed every part of my life. Not because I was in despair or searching for a lifeline — but because I’ve always been a question-asker, and this book led me into discoveries I didn’t even know I was missing.
Ann Voskamp’s One Thousand Gifts wasn’t just a read — it was a turning point.
Described as a radical gratitude book, it invites you to slow down and catch God in the moment. To put it simply: it suggests that noticing the ordinary beauty woven into your days can transform your heart, your mind, and your awareness of His presence. It wasn’t an accident that I found it while I was still growing into my work as a photographer. With the book in one hand and my camera in the other, I began to see a world most people walk right past — delicate, quiet places where light and shadow become grace and joy.
(Morning Dew and Sunrise on an asparagus bed)
I began my list toward a thousand things. As the book suggests, it starts small — three simple gifts each day. But I quickly realized that three barely scratched the surface. Every moment was suddenly rich with detail. A glint of sunlight on the sink. A curl of steam rising from a mug. Each one felt like a gift handed directly to me by my Creator. How had I lived my whole life without seeing this?
(Pampas grass)
Seeing beauty in the everyday is so much more than the phrase suggests. Which brings me to the second part of my story: pick up your camera. Even if it’s just your phone. Start looking through a lens now — not “someday” when you have the perfect gear or understand every setting. You’re missing beauty in the meantime.
A wonderful place to begin is with Derry Caulfield — @learnhowtophotograph on Instagram. She’s an Australian photographer with more than 40 years of experience, and she teaches in the kind of quiet, lulling voice that doesn’t push you — it simply invites you. Gentle, encouraging, and calm, her presence reminds you that you don’t have to know everything. You just have to begin.
Here’s how I began: I bought an alternate instruction manual — not the one that came in the box, but one written in plain language. I found the exact guide for my camera model on Amazon, read it cover to cover, and then started at chapter one.
I practiced one thing at a time. I held my camera and went through the motions over and over. Then I took it outside and shot only that one thing — for weeks. When it finally lived in my fingertips, I moved on to the next. That’s how my learning unfolded — one quiet layer at a time.
You don’t need a class, and you don’t have to master manual mode on day one. If that’s important to you, by all means do it — but the real shift comes from simply looking through a lens often enough to feel a pull toward it. When I started, I didn’t know what “noise” or “compression” meant. I just knew I saw something lovely, and I clicked the shutter again and again.
Those early images don’t hold up to the technical knowledge I have now. There’s grain. There’s pixelation. There are framing choices I’d change today. But at the time, all I saw was that I’d saved something beautiful. I still treasure those photographs because of what they represent.
(Smokey Mountains National Park)
When I eventually began selling stock images, I had to learn about resolution, DPI, and image size. But I took those lessons in small bites too. One skill at a time, until it became second nature.
And somewhere along the way, something else happened: I began to see beauty everywhere. A drop of water wasn’t just a drop — it was a world, filled with reflections, depth, and color. That way of seeing began to spill into life beyond the lens.
(Poppy flowers after the bloom)
Nature is an easy place to spot this, but it doesn’t end there. Awareness comes when you slow down, when you savor moments, when you take life one step at a time.
This is why slow living and slow business philosophies resonate so deeply with me. Life is worth the time. This approach has even changed how I handle the smallest tasks — I don’t multitask anymore. I move slower. I give my full attention to the moment in front of me.
Part of that comes with the season I’m in. Being over fifty and an empty nester brings a certain kind of quiet. I didn’t find it as easily during the years of raising a family, when every day felt loud and urgent.
But now? This is the only way I want to live. The only way I can live.
And maybe that’s the point — that when you start paying attention, when you name three small things each day, you start living differently. Seeing differently. What once felt ordinary begins to glow. And before you know it, you’re not just capturing beauty. You’re living inside it.
Below, I’ve shared some of my early images — imperfect by technical standards, but full of memory and meaning. They remind me of where I started, and of what it means to keep looking.
If you’re curious about the book that sparked this journey, you can find Ann Voskamp’s work HERE
Until next time,
Warmly,
Michelle
(Siesta Key Beach- Sarasota Resort)
