© Tanyth Berkeley for The New York Times

“I turned to the wisdom of the ancients. I went to Ovid, where women run from rapacious gods, and Dante, where women writhe in purgatory, and Homer, where women unravel their work, and finally I pulled off the shelf the old black leather-clad King James Version of the Bible I was given in high school. I read feverishly from cover to cover. I had forgotten how much of it is about fear — over and over again, the response to change, even to the miraculous, is fear. I was fighting fear. And what was I so afraid of? Being alone with myself long enough to wonder what is the purpose of my life?”

The above is from Dominique Browning’s “Losing It” featured in today’s New York Times Magazine and is an except from “Slow Love: How I Lost My Job, Put on My Pajamas and Found Happiness,” to be published next month by Atlas & Company.

Writing about this topic, my father comes in the room to tell me about a funeral he attended last week for a friend he served with in the Army. “Although it was 56 years ago, it still feels like yesterday,” he said and walked away.

I made this photograph shortly after I began working with the 4×5; 3 years ago.

Dad, Syracuse, New York, 2007

Mom’s Pie, Syracuse, New York, 2009

Ray, Grand Lake Stream, Maine, 2007

Although I have never had an animal experience quite as extraordinary as the one depicted in this video, I have had a memorable one.

In the winter of 2007/2008, I lived in a farmhouse nestled back on a dirt road in Tenants Harbor, Maine. One night after finishing work I pulled into the driveway to see a red fox sitting on a large clump of snow in the middle of my yard. Snow was falling slowly from the sky and a calm dimness surrounded as the sun had recently dipped beneath the horizon. I exited my car, stepped up two stairs and onto the porch attached to the front of the farmhouse, and sat on a different set of stairs closer to the red fox. For a short while we simply sat there and curiously eyed each other. I watched his snout, the way he intuitively smelled the air, and the way his bushy tail aligned with his calm, attentive body.

He walked right over to where I was sitting, so close that I could have reached out to pet him, but I did not.

I call experiences like these perfect moments, where everything falls into place and you are reminded that it’s happening for a reason, that there’s something special beneath the surface always waiting to be discovered.

Pictured is my mom floating in our pool.  Some days upon returning home from work she floats in the pool and either reads, naps, or does both.  I see the pool as a place of meditation for her; a place of peace.  If you think about it, we begin our lives in a water-filled sac, the womb, and maybe that’s why many of us like being in water so much.

She always looks so at ease when I photograph her in the pool.  I like seeing her at ease, relaxed, and restful.  She always looks youthful during these times.

It’s ironic, I suppose.  When I’m searching for my own peace I sometimes find and see it in others.

Mom in Pool, Syracuse, New York, 2009

Katie, Southold, New York

Katie Swinging, Southold, New York

Dusk, Southold, New York

Katie, Orient Beach State Park, New York