I came across five or six of these little old soup cans situated on a table on our back porch the other day and I've found myself mindlessly visiting, touching, and photographing them ever since. The plants are small and soft, the cans tall and slim, but rusted and much older. 

There's something about them that I like--maybe it's their size, but there's something resilient about them and the way they are sprouting up even though we sometimes over-water them and then leave them out all day in the blazing Virginia heat.

Rosemary, parsley, basil, oregano, some peppers, and thyme.

Plants simply growing where they are planted is not nearly a work of magic, I know, but it's little tiny things like this that make me stop and feel thankful to be part of this world. To feel the sun beat down on me, to walk barefoot in the grass. To appreciate the texture and color of an old can. To find hope in tiny roots and warm, wet soil--little pots of potential.

I came across this beautiful series last week, and I was so smitten with the theme that I had to throw my two cents in.

I'm approaching my twenty-fourth birthday this September, and these past few years have taught me a thing or two.

[In the old apartment with old hair, reading Old Friend from Far Away, taken March 2011.]

+ Learn to let go. There are only so many things that you can control. Do what you can with those and just let go of the rest. Life is too short to be stressed out about things that you just can't do anything about.

+ You are too old to allow anyone to make you feel badly about yourself. Don't waste any more time on someone who consistently makes you feel like crap. Just move on. You're a grown-up! You deserve good people in your life.

+ You are too young to settle. Mediocre friends, a job you hate; anything that breeds negativity. Get rid of it.

+ Don't you dare feel bad about feeling good about yourself.

+ You are capable of feeling grief that you never thought was possible. Someone will probably dump you. People will die. Life will change, and you will freak out about it. You won't know how to deal with it, and then one day, you will.

+ Figure out what works for you and do it. The way you work, the way you eat, the way you deal with stress--just find out how you manage life the best and do it that way. Don't worry if it's not the way other people do it.

+ Just be nice. Stop judging. People are going to blow your mind sometimes, but you have no idea why they do what they do. Even if you're pretty sure, just stop and focus on bettering yourself instead. Pointing out someone's flaws doesn't make you any less flawed.

+ Someone else's success doesn't make you a failure. Get over it.

+ You truly get what you give. Work hard, laugh hard, love a lot, have fun, and really take advantage of every opportunity that comes your way.

+ Forgive, and then forget, dammit! Let go of the grudges. Move on with your life.

+ There is truly no limit to what the power of thinking positively can do for you. Visualize what you want from your life and focus on that every day. Inspire yourself with your thoughts and good things will follow.

+ Just love yourself, unconditionally. No explanation needed.

[The street in front of our old Sunday Morning Spot, taken in Roanoke, May 2011.]

Currently, there are several empty corners in my apartment.

The space where a coffee table used to be. The old home of a lamp. An empty bookshelf in the corner of the office.

There was a time in my life when these empty spaces would have been a cause of anxiety and sadness. Now I look at them with joy and see how full of hope they really are. As I pack things slowly into boxes and send furniture away, I am simplifying my life.

There's something very attractive to me about doing things that aren't easy. Maybe it's the runner in me.

Go the distance. Throw things away. Make life better.

I remember a very specific moment from when Rob and I were leaving Roanoke to move here for the year. I was emptying the refrigerator in an apartment that no longer held any of our things. A broom sat, propped against another empty corner and dust covered the floor of what used to be our living room. The muggy August heat of southwest Virginia crept through the old warehouse windows of the apartment, and in that empty space, Rob pushed the hair from my sticky neck and said "I love you." That apartment wasn't empty as long as we were in it.

I have learned that an empty corner is just the beginning of something new and better.