Have a Nice Wednesday! Select “All Comments” and See Other Pics… Full Story👇👇👇
It started with a photo. Just one. Me, standing in the garden with a mug of something warm, wearing a linen shirt that had seen better days and a mood that hadn’t. The light was soft, the shadows long. Dusty June was blooming sideways again, like she’d decided the rules didn’t apply. I captioned it: “Have a nice Wednesday!”
Simple. Casual. Almost forgettable.
But the comments lit up. “Where is this?” “You look peaceful.” “Is that Clementine in the background?” So I dropped the rest of the pics in the first comment.
Me, barefoot, watering Riot, my wild marigold, with a chipped ceramic jug. A close-up of Echo, the motorcycle I named for the way she remembers every road. A shot of the garden gate, slightly ajar, like it was waiting for someone to walk through and change everything.
Each photo was a mood. A moment. A breadcrumb.
Because this Wednesday wasn’t just a day. It was a story.
👇👇👇 Full story below.
I woke up early. Not because I had to, but because I wanted to. The air was cool, the kind that makes you feel like something’s about to happen. I stepped outside and the garden greeted me like an old friend—messy, fragrant, alive.
I didn’t check my phone. I didn’t make a list. I just moved.
I brewed coffee in the chipped mug I found in Phnom Penh, the one with the faded lotus pattern and the crack that runs like a river down the side. I call it Ophelia. She leaks a little, but she holds warmth like a promise.
I sat on the hood of Clementine, my rust-freckled Datsun, and watched the sun rise through the bougainvillea. The petals looked like confetti. The light looked like forgiveness.
And I took pictures.
Not for likes. For proof.
Proof that I showed up. That I didn’t rush. That I let the day unfold without trying to control it.
There’s a photo I didn’t post. Me, sitting cross-legged in the dirt, hands covered in soil, face streaked with sweat and something close to joy. I almost deleted it. But then I thought—maybe someone else needs to see it. Needs to know that peace doesn’t always look polished.
So I kept it.
Because this Wednesday isn’t about perfection.
It’s about presence.
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I named the flowers again. Dusty June, Riot, Ophelia, Ghost. Each one a character. Each one a mood. Each one a reminder that beauty is better when it’s personal.
I named the breeze Whisper. I named the light Mercy. I named the silence Grace.
Because naming things makes them real.
And today felt real.
I didn’t do anything extraordinary. I didn’t solve a crisis or finish a project or change the world. I just lived. Slowly. Intentionally. With my hands in the dirt and my heart in the moment.
And I posted about it.
Not to brag. To share.
Because maybe someone else is scrolling through their feed, feeling disconnected, wondering if they’re missing something.
And maybe they’ll see my post and remember: you don’t need a reason to celebrate a Wednesday.
You just need to notice it.
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So scroll the comments. See the pics. Each one is a chapter. A confession. A celebration.
Of the person who didn’t rush.
Of the garden that bloomed sideways.
Of the car that carried me.
Of the mug that leaked.
Of the story that doesn’t need permission.
Because this Wednesday is mine.
And I’m showing up for it.
