We've been looking at houses lately. We've lived in our little apartment for three years, and we love it, but we've come to the realization that it would make much more sense financially to purchase a home. 

We've looked at some older homes, which were fine, but not exactly what we were hoping for. The dream of an in-home studio makes the search all the more specific (natural light, hardwood floors, etc.) And then we found it: the perfect home. A townhouse, yellow, in a quaint, quiet  neighborhood, with not one but two rosebushes blooming happily in the front yard. 

An all white kitchen. A hideaway and bonus room upstairs. Hardwood floors for days. There was a white fireplace that I had already decorated in my mind with a row of quirky potted succelents and a giant black and white canvas. The master bedroom was spacious, the bathroom newly redone. It was beautiful. 

We didn't put an offer on it. It was all that we were looking for in every way except, except...

There was no natural light. None. Not only was the town house squished between two others, allowing for no side light, it was completely in the woods, almost a little cave. 

Trevor and I both decided, ultimately, that it wasn't right. I felt guilty, almost, turning away this perfect little dream home. Who do I think I am, turning down a house that fate has so graciously bestowed upon us, only because it wouldn't be suitable for taking pictures in? I'm not some famous photographer; I've barely started my business. Am I good enough to justify basing so big a decision on my art?

But I could be having babies in this home. And if not, I will at the very least be living my own full life, the remainder of my twenties, in this home. And isn't it worth documenting? Isn't it worth it to have a little natural light streaming in the windows and onto my husband's face as he pours the hot water in the Chemex every morning, lighting up whatever color eyes my future children will have? 

I'm not an award winning photographer. I certainly don't make a six figure income. But photography is important to me on a level much deeper than all that. It's about capturing the small moments that make up my life and saving them forever. That's no small thing. That's worth turning down a house for, rosebushes or no. 

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