About Naomi Figueroa Photography
Traveling. Farmer‘s markets. Changing of seasons. Latin America. Cooking. The color blue (definitely not pink). Maine. Fresh fruits and veggies. Photography. Big dogs (if you‘re going to be a dog, be a DOG). Writing. The smell of pine trees. Jesus. Teenagers. Speaking Spanish (or trying, at least). Learning. Fair trade coffee. Dancing salsa with my husband. Nature. Family.
Just a few snippets of my life, but it all comes out in my photography because it is part of who I am. The why of everything I do is to bring glory to God. He is the ultimate Creative and the reason that we have this wonderful gift of being able to create, whether our medium is art or language or technology or music.
I‘m so glad you stopped by my blogsite. I hope you‘ll enjoy exploring a bit. Leave some love in the comments, or send me a note on the contact page! :D
Climbing the trail, sticks breaking under my feet. Jumping into the pool of icy water. Sliding down the rocks. Jumping off the cliff into a deep pool of water. Standing beneath the falling water. Drying out on the warm boulders under the mild summer sun of Maine.
I’ll take waterfalls tucked away in the mountains and surrounded by woods over a beach any day. 
I got off the phone with my mom on that Thursday night and had a pit in my stomach. “You’re the only one that’s not here,” she had told me as she recounted the names of all my uncles, aunts, and cousins who had come “home” to Maine from all over the country to celebrate my grandparents’ 50th wedding anniversary. I had been at a college 12 hours from home for about 2 months, making new friends and finding new things to call “home,” but I desperately longed to be with my family that weekend, in everything I knew to be familiar.
I wanted it so badly that I started searching Greyhound for bus fares and times. “I only have one class on Friday morning,” I thought…”I wonder if I can afford the bus fare and bear riding on one for 16 hours.” God had blessed me with two amazing friends at the time, and I confided this crazy notion in one of them on Friday morning. She asked me why I don’t just drive…and she’d go with me. We started getting excited, and shared the news with a couple more friends who said they’d join as well. My pain turned into a building excitement as I thought about surprising my whole family by showing up Saturday morning unannounced. When we finally made it official that we were going that Friday afternoon, we ran around our dorm, screaming (as excitable freshmen often do), “ROAD TRIP!!!!”
We packed up quickly and made necessary preparations, and we were on the road by 6 PM. Yes, a 12 hour drive means we were driving all through the night. A night filled with crazy drivers harassing us (that’s a story for another day), relying on our trusty atlas, and being greeted by snow falling as we entered Maine.
Did I ever regret taking that crazy, spontaneous trip, having to drive through the night, not get any homework done, and missing classes on Monday? Nope, not for a second. Would I have regretted missing one of the last times our entire family was together while my grandpa was still healthy? I’m quite sure I would still have a pit of sadness when thinking about that weekend had I not been there.
Is there a risk you’re thinking about taking, or a decision you’re trying to make? Why are you afraid of taking the chance? Ask yourself what you would regret more–taking the chance and failing, or not taking it and always wondering what would have been?
I’m glad to know what would have been that weekend, and what was…will always bring a smile to my face.
Aren’t posts more interesting with pictures?
Before it got too hot, and before we stepped out onto the cobblestone streets and into our old yellow school bus, we began our day sipping cafecito and eating some rationed bread. A simple breakfast, but it was enough. A stark contrast to the breakfasts in Nicaragua, where the first had plenty and the last had little. Here, we all had just enough.
There was a lot of hustle and bustle out in the streets, and soon we’d begin a day packed with activities. But just for the morning, we could enjoy conversation and reflection with good friends over cafecito and ration bread…in the serenity of this old convent in a little corner in Havana.
Oh, how my heart longs to go back and capture the beauty of a place I have been blessed to see and of people I have been blessed to meet. There is a lot to be said about Cuba. There are a lot of presuppositions and impressions and debates. All I can say, for now, at this moment, is that I am longing to return to that beautiful island….algún día.
