The Stomach Drop aka Standing in the Storm

In the high desert of Taos, I found something strange.

One of the en route photos I stole from mother nature along the way. Click the image to view prints.

I used to get a terrifying feeling in my stomach when something went wrong. A physiological alarm. I was three years old the first time it hit, when my mom yelled “JOLENEEEEEEE!” from the other room.

Sheer terror rose in the pit of my belly. I grew to know it well: “The Stomach Drop.” In my short life, I’d learned that feeling meant one of three things:

1. Something has gone terribly wrong and it is my fault.

2. Someone found out something has gone wrong and it might be my fault.

3. Nothing is wrong, but I feel guilty anyway.

In 2012, I was somewhere between Pennsylvania and Colorado, driving west with no plan other than to get there. We dropped south into New Mexico. Taos wasn’t the destination; it was just where we ended up.

I remember the canyon opening up into rolling gold mountains—or maybe they were hills. They looked like someone had draped gold velvet over the earth. The sun was mind-blowing. I wondered: Are the sunsets always like this here?

Near the edge of the Rio Grande Gorge, the sky split open. It didn’t feel stable. It became one of the top ten moments in my history of travel. Light broke through in one direction; darkness gathered in another. It was the kind of sky that makes you stop without knowing why.

Everything happened at once: a rainbow cutting the background, lightning striking the distance, a storm sitting right in the center of it all.

And this tree.

This was the moment I captured a sunset I would never forget. Like the photograph? Click the image to view prints.

It didn’t feel like a tree. It felt placed. A marker. Like it had something to say. I took one of the best photographs of my life in that moment—not because I planned it, but because I was standing in it.

I remember feeling unsettled. Not scared, not unsafe—just antsy. My stomach did that familiar drop. It was my first time in the desert and I didn’t know if I should be feeling excitement, fear, or awe. I guess I felt them all, which is why the stomach drop was there.

Seven years later, I went back to Taos. I almost didn’t; the first experience felt too remarkable to touch. But I like to challenge things—even nature—to show off.

This time, I brought two friends. Both strong, intelligent, opinionated women who had never met each other. Since they were both friends of mine, I thought they would get along. I thought it would be an easy trip.

It wasn’t.

There was friction. A tension between different ways of moving through the world. I remember watching it, not just as a participant, but as an observer. It was like that sunset years ago, but more unnerving.