What makes something worthy of our attention? A walk with my camera and a few ordinary leaves led me to question how we decide what is worthy of being seen, noticed, and valued.
There I was, one sunny afternoon, standing at the start of a hiking trail with my camera in hand. Earlier that morning, I had decided to take full advantage of the gorgeous weather and spend the day doing one of my favorite pastimes: wandering, wondering, and photographing.
As I walked along the path, several things caught my attention. With each one, I found myself gradually slowing my pace, approaching the scene carefully to capture exactly what drew me in.
When I reached the forested section of the trail, one of my favorite areas, I felt that familiar sense of immediate peace that comes from being surrounded by the tall, towering trees. Their presence never fails to elicit a feeling of protection within me, something invisible to my eyes but always deeply felt.
As my Adidas created a rhythmic pattern against the trail, I noticed a vibrant green color from afar. With each step forward, the green abstract blob gradually took shape, becoming something more identifiable. Just feet away, I realized they were leaves from one of the trees.
Just leaves.
But I sensed that familiar feeling of awe beginning to rise within me. There was just something about the way they looked in that moment. The way the sunrays illuminated them added a quiet beauty my inner artist couldn’t deny.
I stood there in stillness while other people walked, jogged, or whizzed by on bikes. As I fully took in the scene, I found myself surprisingly hesitating. I knew how it made me feel, but there was a nagging doubt about actually taking a picture of them.
Why would you take pictures of leaves? You see leaves every day. They’re nothing unusual. Nothing is extraordinary about them. It’s not fall yet, and they haven’t even changed colors. Seems silly to me.
Arguably, these thoughts weren’t completely wrong. But I realized they were also influenced by external measures, standards, and beliefs about what is considered worthy of our attention. I paused and recognized how much doubt had inconspicuously crept in within seconds. I found it fascinating how subtly that happens and how easily we can talk ourselves out of something before we’ve even given ourselves the chance to experience it.
Nonetheless, instead of surrendering to the uncertainty and doubt, I lifted my camera, stood underneath the tree until I felt I was capturing precisely the essence of what I was seeing and feeling, and pressed the shutter button.
Later, while looking back at that photo, I felt somehow transported back to the moment and revisited how I felt: somewhere between experiencing awe, wondering why the leaves were worthy of capturing, and feeling certain that they inherently were.
My reverence for nature certainly played a role, but ultimately, I deemed them worthy of photographing simply because I felt moved when I saw them. And there, in my hand, was the visual reminder and evidence of just that.
I didn’t need any justification. They didn’t have to be leaves from exotic trees. How I perceived their beauty was enough for their value to be revealed to me.
I thought about my own life and how worthiness is measured. I considered how different people feel connected to different things. There has never been a universal table of worthiness that determines the value of people, things, or experiences. What we deem worthy is shaped by the person witnessing or experiencing it, and that perception can change from person to person. After all, our feelings influence what becomes visible and valuable to us.
And looking at that picture reminded me that how I felt in that moment was reason enough to photograph the leaves.
And I realized this same idea of worthiness shows up in the way we see ourselves. I’ve experienced it at gatherings with family and/or friends when I want to take a picture to remember the occasion and the special time spent together. Almost every time, there is at least one person who is running in the opposite direction of the gathering, avoiding the camera at all costs, saying something like, “I look like a mess today,” or “My hair isn’t done,” or “Nope, not without lipstick!”
No judgment here. I’ve been that person a time or two myself.
But as I take the picture without them, I can’t help but remember its purpose: to create a visual reminder of who was there and how they contributed to the meaning and heart of the occasion.
When the people who attended revisit the photo, they surely won’t be focused on all the little imperfections, but rather the essence of the people who were there and how they made them feel. I believe our presence and the essence of who we are reveal a captivating beauty that is independent of popular standards of beauty or perfect aesthetics. It’s a beauty that is not seen but deeply felt.
Even today, when I look back at old photos of my grandparents, who have both passed on, they appear undeniably beautiful to me because in that moment I am reminded of the gentleness and love they shared with me. Their beauty isn’t measured by whether they met some standard of physical perfection. I don’t care if my Nana’s dress is wrinkled or Gramps has a stain on his shirt. Truthfully, I probably don’t even notice. I see them through the sacred lens of invisible impressions they left in my heart.
And that plays out in other ways too.
And perhaps that’s what happens when we look at someone through the lens of love. My husband and I have a joke that he always says everything looks good on me. Haircut. New style. Makeup. Doesn’t matter, and I believe that he believes it. So I tell him that his love for me creates a filter that somehow makes me look better through his eyes.
And for those times when I need the raw and unfiltered truth, I knock on my pre-teen’s bedroom door, and she’s always happy to give it to me.
And who is to say which is more true?
Perhaps neither perspective is more accurate. They’re simply seeing me through different lenses.
Maybe this is something I can remind myself of the next time I’m the one standing in front of the camera and don’t feel like I’m at my best. I can remember that the things I’m noticing in myself aren’t necessarily what someone else sees. Just as I can see my grandparents through the love and memories I carry of them, I can allow myself to be seen beyond whatever imperfection has captured my attention in that moment.
And maybe that’s the point.
The way we see is shaped by what we feel, what we value, what we have experienced, and what we have been taught to believe. All of these things influence what becomes visible and valuable to us.
And so, on that day, I received more than just a moment of awe and gratitude for everyday wonder. I received a reminder that worthiness isn’t something we have to earn, prove, or justify. Sometimes, it is simply revealed through the way we see.
Just like those leaves.
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