A quiet unfolding. A reckoning with faith, uncertainty, and the spaces in between. As the world looked toward St. Peter's Square - toward transition, tradition, and the unknown—I found myself mirroring that stillness Not in Rome, but elsewhere. In my own life. Struck by a sense of parallel experience— a stillness, a waiting, a surrender to something larger than myself. I didn't have words for it, only a pull to document what I was feeling. Photography became my way of listening— to the silence, the questions, the fragile hope.
It's a tangle of light and shadow, solitude and searching. It's about identity when everything feels uncertain. It's about trusting something just beyond reach.
Years later, another conclave unfolds—new prayers, new beginnings. Another moment of transition, another gathering of quiet hope. And once again, I find myself waiting. This time, it's for answers that may shape the next part of my life. The timing feels uncanny, familiar.
The parallels aren't lost on me. Like before, I'm caught between what's known and what's coming, held in that same fragile space of not yet.
Last time, I was told, "You're lucky." This time, I hear it again. The words land differently now, heavier, quieter. Farther Along has always been about this—about the echoes, the patterns, the slow work of healing. It's not a story with an ending. It's a return to the same questions, seen with new eyes.
It continues to be a space where I confront what cannot be controlled, where light and darkness still speak to each other. This was never about resolution—it's about learning to sit with the questions. And even now, as they return, I'm still listening, still learning to live in the in-between.