Sharing Our Worlds: Interpreting Life Through My Lens

We all live in our own heads, separated by the filters through which we see the world. It’s strange to think about, but we are fundamentally alone in our perceptions. Each of us interprets reality differently, shaped by personal experiences, emotions, and inner worlds that are ours alone. In many ways, this blog is my attempt to bridge that gap—to communicate with others despite the inevitable separateness of individual experience.

I often find myself in my daughter’s reactions. The things I see strongest in her—the resistance to quick changes, the heightened sensitivity, the moments of intensity—are reflections of myself shining back. I struggle with these same things, which is why I recognize them so clearly in her. Perhaps that’s what drives me to capture these moments in my art and writing. By interpreting her world through my lens, I’m not only connecting with her but also exploring aspects of myself that are mirrored in her.

Navigating the Complexities of Sharing Online

Sharing personal stories online is always a balancing act, especially as a parent. I’ve read many articles cautioning about the dangers of sharing too much about our kids on social media. There are valid concerns about privacy and, of course, the fear that someone with bad intentions might misuse the information. But for me, it’s about more than that. It’s about respecting my daughter’s autonomy and recognizing that what I share now might affect her in ways I can’t predict.

I don’t share identifiable photos of her. If I use footage, I blur it out. While I’m not a hidden person—I’m approachable and easy to find—I try to keep a boundary around her, allowing her to grow into her own person without a digital trail she hasn’t chosen for herself. This blog is where I share my point of view on my life and parenting journey. It’s personal, yes, but it’s my interpretation of our shared experiences, filtered through my lens.

Art as Interpretation, Not a Definitive Reality

The illustrations I create often don’t reflect literal truth; instead, they’re built from pieces of my perception, mixed with a little artistic freedom. Take the cat in my drawings, for example. We actually have two grey tabbies—striped grey and black—but I found it easier and more evocative to draw a simple black cat, and thus, a fictional version of “Puck” was born. Puck, as he appears in my illustrations, is actually based on a cat from our past—the neighbor’s cat. We noticed how well our daughter connected with that cat and thought that having a pet of her own might help her grow and connect on a deeper level.

So while the real Puck is a blend of our two grey tabbies, the character in my art is a reinterpretation, an amalgamation of different memories and ideas. In the end, he’s not just a pet, but a symbol of connection, growth, and creativity for both of us. This is the essence of creative license for me: combining elements from reality in a way that tells a story, even if it means departing from the literal truth. The drawings are not exact replicas of life but interpretations of my experiences and emotions, designed to capture something more than what can be seen.

Then there’s the drawing I’m sharing with this post: my daughter and our fictional Puck, standing amidst a pile of skulls, with a dark, ominous figure looming behind them. For me, it symbolizes the unknowns and potential dangers of sharing personal experiences online. But the skulls also remind me of life’s fleeting nature. I won’t always be here, and in a way, these illustrations and reflections may be the trace of myself I leave behind. Amidst the darkness, there’s a small flower at her feet, a symbol of resilience, hope, and the beauty that persists even in challenging environments.

The Fluidity of Identity and the Future Impact

This conversation came up with my girlfriend recently. What if someone reads my blog and takes my words as the absolute truth? Then, people might approach my daughter with pre-interpretations, assuming they know her based on my perspective, and perhaps they won’t take the time to get to know her beautiful, unique self. That thought alone makes me question every post.

But if it ever becomes too much—if she ever tells me that this blog is causing her pain—I’ll take it down. Even though that idea is hard to accept, her well-being matters far more than my desire to share my inner world. At the same time, there’s a part of me that hesitates because sharing this inner world is so important to me. I know I’d find other ways to express myself, but the truth is, she’s one of the biggest parts of my life. So much of my inspiration comes from her. She’s woven into the fabric of my creativity, and in sharing her, I’m sharing parts of myself. It’s a constant push and pull between honoring her autonomy and staying true to my own need for expression.

Connection Through Vulnerability

At the heart of this blog is a desire to connect. I’m not just sharing my daughter’s story; I’m sharing my own journey as a parent and as a person who sometimes feels disconnected from the world. I know that I can be a little closed off, and this blog is one of my ways of reaching out, of saying, “Here’s how I see things. Does anyone else see it this way, too?”

I want her to understand someday that my intent was never to define her. My goal has always been to express my experiences and feelings as her father and how those experiences shape the way I interpret the world. It’s as much a process of self-discovery for me as it is an expression of our relationship.

The Uncertainty of Perception

In the end, all I can do is acknowledge that what I share is my interpretation, not a definitive reality. The things I write about her and about us are just fragments of a larger picture that can only ever be partially captured. She is her own person, with her own unique perception of the world, just as I am.

The world I create through my art is an attempt to translate my feelings, my challenges, and my moments of wonder. If, one day, she looks back and sees herself in these posts, I hope she will understand that they’re reflections of how I felt at this time—not judgments, not definitions, just interpretations. And if she decides she wants these reflections to fade, I’ll honor that. Because in the end, the world we share is only partially seen through my lens.

The rest is up to her.