…and i know that’s a bold statement. people usually save “best thing we’ve ever done” for buying a house, having a kid, or taking some life-changing trip to the amalfi coast.

i’m talking about an outdoor shower.

truly. hand to heart. the outdoor shower is the best thing we’ve ever done.

when we built it last october, i thought it would be one of those things that felt exciting for a few weeks next summer before becoming part of the background. like a new paint color or a kitchen gadget you swear you’ll use forever but ends up collecting dust in the basement.

instead, every single time i step into it, i think, this is ridiculous.

not because it’s extravagant. because it somehow makes an ordinary tuesday feel like vacation.

the evening sun hits the cedar shingles just right. the breeze moves through the garden all around me. i hear birds instead of a bathroom fan.

and for ten minutes [well, usually five because “mama it’s henry’s turn”], while i’m washing shampoo out of my hair, i feel like i’ve accidentally wandered into a life that belongs to someone much cooler than me.

months later, the novelty still hasn’t worn off.

henry loves it too.

he brings toy trucks into the shower. he runs naked laps around the deck. he treats the whole thing like a water park that was built specifically for him [let’s be real: it kinda was].

there are wet footprints everywhere.

i wouldn’t change a thing.

the funny thing is that when people talk about happiness, we tend to think in giant categories.

a bigger house.
a different job.
more money.
the next vacation.
the thing we’re working toward.

but I’ve started wondering if happiness is actually built much smaller than that.

maybe it’s the outdoor shower.

maybe it’s the lilac bush that blooms for two weeks every spring.

maybe it’s drinking actually-hot-this-time coffee on the front porch before everyone else wakes up.

maybe it’s buying the fancy bread just because.

maybe it’s taking the long way home because the road is prettier.

none of these things are life-changing on their own. but they change your life anyway. not dramatically. incrementally.

a few minutes here.
a little delight there.

enough tiny moments stitched together that your days begin to feel different.

i think about this a lot as a photographer.

the images people come back to years later are rarely the “big” moments they expected. they’re the details.

the way their toddler always carried around that stuffed rabbit with the missing ear. the gap-toothed grin. the rain boots that still kinda fit, even if they’re on the wrong feet.

the life that felt ordinary while you were living it.

and maybe that’s why I love the outdoor shower so much.

it’s a daily reminder that a good life isn’t always built from milestones. sometimes it’s built from noticing what makes an average tuesday feel just a little bit more magical.

and if you need me, i’ll be outside, shampooing my hair and pretending i’m in the caribbean somehwere. 

[this email was written from the porch, coffee in hand, birdsong in the background, outdoor shower evangelism in full swing.]

if you’d like these notes to land in your inbox instead of finding them later on the internet somewhere between your 14 open tabs, you can sign up for Sincerely, A. it’s where I share the quieter stuff — motherhood, memory, photography, things I’m noticing, things I don’t want to forget — sent every so often, like a letter from a friend. [psssst… it is also where I share session openings, product drops, and other tidbits that are worth being the first to get your hands on.]