It Was Never Pointless If It Mattered to Me

Thoughts from the Floor, written by someone doing their best

Stumbling, surviving, still here

Last night, after most of my responsibilities were done, I went out to a dark spot where I like to take pictures of the sky.

The northern lights were out. I had music playing, my phone camera open, and a plan to get some pictures.

At first, the lights weren’t showing up as bright as I hoped. So, there I was, playing with settings, trying again, and waiting to see what my phone would catch.

I have a friend who is an astrophotographer, and his pictures are amazing. He’s building something incredible with his work, and the way he talks about life, healing, and moving forward has inspired me in a lot of ways.

Watching him has encouraged me to keep growing, too. I wanted to take some pictures of my own—something I could use in my brand and videos. Something I had been there to capture.

But somewhere between adjusting the settings and waiting on that camera timer, I remembered something.

I used to love this.

For years, I loved looking at the stars and trying to capture a little piece of what I saw.

Then the world got loud.

Responsibilities piled up. Other things took priority. And somewhere along the way, someone told me it was pointless. That it wasn’t important.

Eventually, I stopped making room for it.

Last night, standing out on an empty road looking up, I remembered that it is important.

It’s important to me.

And I don’t need a better explanation than that.

I was happy to be there with my music and myself. No one asking for anything. No expectations. For a little while, I could just be present in my own moment.

I even danced while the timer counted down.

Which, by the way, three minutes feels like approximately an hour when you’re waiting to see whether you got a decent picture of the sky.

Apparently, I have patience. It just comes with dancing and checking how much time is left.

Now, before I make this sound like some perfectly peaceful movie scene, let me tell you about the leaves.

They rustled.

My imagination immediately decided we needed to investigate every terrible possibility.

Was it an animal looking for a late-night snack? Was I the snack? Was there a man coming out of the woods?

It’s October. I’ve watched too many docuseries. My brain had material to work with.

So yes, I was enjoying my peaceful moment while occasionally considering whether I was about to become the opening scene of something I would normally watch from my couch.

Being human is a whole experience.

But I stayed for a while. I played with the settings. I got some pictures I was happy with. Then I set the timer, laid my phone on top of my truck, and waited.

I’ve always wanted to capture a shooting star.

My friend has pictures with several in them, and I always expect his work to be amazing. Mine? I hoped for something good, but I’d always thought I probably wouldn’t get that lucky.

Then I picked up my phone and looked.

There was this big, bright streak across my picture. (Picture below, the one I captured)

I was so excited. More excited than I had been concerned about becoming a woodland snack, which is saying something.

And I realized how much I’ve missed doing things like this.

I miss staying up late sometimes because I’m enjoying myself. I miss getting curious about something and giving myself time to figure it out. I miss those little moments of freedom that don’t need a whole plan.

I miss letting a moment belong to me.

Even last night, I started with a reason that sounded useful: I could take pictures for my brand. And I’m glad I have those pictures to share.

But I also would have been allowed to go out there simply because I wanted to.

Enjoying something doesn’t have to come with proof that it was a productive use of time.

I’m still learning that.

It’s easy to get used to measuring a day by how much we handled. How much we finished. How many people we helped. Whether we kept everything moving.

There are responsibilities that need our attention. I know that very well.

But I want there to be room in my life for the things I love, too. Including the things someone else might not understand or care about.

Someone calling something pointless doesn’t erase what it means to me.

I wonder how many of us have put down something we loved because of a comment like that.

Taking pictures. Singing. Drawing. Reading. Dancing around the kitchen. Making something with our hands, even if we never sell it and we’re still learning how.

Maybe you can think of your own thing right now.

Something you miss.

Something you stopped doing because you got busy, or self-conscious, or tired of explaining why you liked it.

I don’t have a big assignment for you this week. I’m still figuring out how to make room for these moments myself.

But maybe we could ask:

What have I missed that I could let myself enjoy again?

It doesn’t have to become another commitment. You can pick something up for a little while and see how it feels.

Last night, mine was an empty road, some music, and a phone balanced on top of my truck.

It was dancing through a ridiculously long timer. Getting startled by leaves. Looking up and remembering that I still love what’s out there.

My responsibilities were waiting when I got home. But I came home with pictures I was excited about and a moment I was glad I’d given myself.

I want more of those moments.

More room to be curious. More time to enjoy something without defending it. More chances to decide for myself what makes my time worthwhile.

Sometimes that might mean finishing something important.

And sometimes it might mean standing under the stars, messing with my camera settings.

Just because I can.

And because it matters to me.

Till we meet at the next resting point, whenever and wherever it finds us.

A messy human, doing their best— Robin Lynn

If you or someone you know is struggling with suicidal thoughts or is in crisis: In the U.S., call or text 988 to reach the Suicide & Crisis Lifeline. If there is immediate danger, call 911 or go to the nearest emergency department.

You don't have to wait until you're at your worst to reach out.

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