The Part I Never Get to See

A week after I mailed a box to my publisher, an email appeared in my inbox. It wasn’t about the manuscript or about photography schedules or production timelines.

It was about opening the box.

She wrote that each little envelope felt like opening a present. She said she was photographing and filming the unboxing because it felt too special not to document.

I found myself smiling.

Not because she told me she loved my work, but because she let me witness something I almost never get to see.

For the past eight years, I’ve made thousands of little tokens by hand.

Most of them have ended up in someone else’s pocket, wallet, journal, or home.

I’ve handed them to baristas, servers, janitors, receptionists, grocery clerks, flight attendants, and strangers whose names I learned only moments before.

Once they leave my hands, I rarely know what happens next.

That’s part of the practice.

You make something with care.

You give it away.

You trust that its story continues without you.

The box I mailed to my publisher felt no different.

Inside were hundreds of handmade pieces that will eventually appear in my book. Mixed media. Gouache. Gel plate prints. Fingerpainted paper tokens. Each one carefully wrapped, labeled, and packed for the journey across the country.

I thought I was simply sending artwork for photography. I didn’t realize I was sending an experience.

When I saw the tokens fanned out in her hands, I could feel the love. These weren’t polished photos arranged by a stylist … they were simply held with curiosity and care.

I’ve come to realize that every act of generosity has a point where it disappears from our view.

We hand someone a token. We send the manuscript. We mail the package.

We let go.

Most of the time, that’s where the story ends for us.

But, in reality, it doesn’t end there.

It continues quietly in someone else’s hands.

This time, someone opened a window and invited me to see the other side. Not so I could measure the impact of what I’d made. Simply so I could witness how it was received.

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Outgrowing My Own Book