The Week I Didn’t Create Anything (And Still Felt Everything)

I didn’t write last week.
Didn’t send the newsletter.
Didn’t post.
Didn’t create anything I could share.

And yeah, I felt kinda bad about it.
Because I want to be consistent. I want to show up. I want this thing to move.
But the truth is—I was tired.
And busy.
And honestly, just caught up in life.

I spent most of the week doing backend stuff.
SEO tweaks. Website updates. Filing receipts for taxes.
That kind of admin work that feels like chewing cardboard with your brain.
No magic. No spark. Just systems and spreadsheets and things that needed doing.

And then—something softer.

It was my wife’s birthday. Jana. Her twin sister came over.
We took a boat. A slow ferry ride across the water. Just the three of us and a camera.

We found a spot to shoot. The light was beautiful. Their bond—unspoken, effortless—was right there, waiting to be captured.
And then I noticed.

I’d left the spare battery at home.

A full fucking rookie move. One of those mistakes you don’t make once you’re “professional,” right?
Except I just did.

I beat myself up about it more than I probably should have.
But we made up for it later.
Around the corner from our home, we found a quiet little spot. The evening light was soft. The energy felt easy again.
I took some photos I really love.

That night we watched the Nosferatu remake—the Herzog one.
Holy hell. What a film.
So much mood. So much feeling in every frame. The shadows. The silence. The pacing.
It reminded me why I fell in love with cinema in the first place.
Why I try to shoot weddings and portraits like I’m capturing scenes from a film instead of just checking off a list of moments.

And then yesterday came.
The first wedding of the season.

No speeches. No traditions. No dances or dramatic moments.
Just people. Mingling. Drinking. Existing.
Beautiful for them.
Harder for me.

Because as a photographer, when there’s no structure—no big “happenings”—you have to work twice as hard to find the story.
You have to tune into the in-between. The small gestures. The subtle glances.
You have to feel everything more.

And I don’t know how I did, honestly.
Haven’t looked through the photos yet.
But my brain already went there:
“Did I shoot enough?”
“Did I see enough?”
“Did I miss it?”

It happens after every wedding.
The come-down. The second-guessing. The “what if I fucked it up?” spiral.
It’s like a reflex at this point.

But weirdly, I’m okay with that.
Because that feeling—that doubt—it means I still give a shit.
It means I still care about making something that actually matters.
Not just “capturing a day,” but seeing it. Feeling it. Translating it.

So no, I didn’t write last week.
But I lived.
And I noticed things.
And I fucked up and came back from it.
And I watched something that moved me to my core.
And I showed up with a camera, even when nothing loud was happening.

And maybe that counts.
Maybe that’s the point.

The backend work, the ferry ride, the forgotten battery, the last-light photos, the eerie beauty of Nosferatu, the quiet wedding where I had to search for story in silence…

Maybe that’s where the art lives.

In the stillness.
In the little failures.
In the days you don’t post, but feel everything.

If you’re in the quiet right now—if your week looked more like receipts and doubts and soft, non-Instagrammable moments—you’re not alone.

You’re just in the part of the story where nothing seems to be happening…
but everything is shifting underneath.

And that fucking counts.

Hugs,
Bjørn

For the hearts still beating—keep creating, keep pushing, keep giving a damn.

P.S.
Tell me about your quiet.
Your forgotten battery moment.
Your still, strange, beautiful scene.
I’d love to hear it. Hit reply.