When the frame changes, so does the story
Eight lessons from eight years in Corsica.
“I remember vividly the first day I woke up in my new home, after moving to Corsica…”
That line comes from the very first piece I published on Sip of Corsica, in October 2024. Writing about that morning, my first waking moment in our new home, felt deeply symbolic.
Because on April 21, 2017, as I watched the sun rise over the Tyrrhenian Sea, I felt a quiet certainty settle inside me.
I was exactly where I needed to be.
And somehow, I knew: this was the first day of the rest of my life.
Eight years have passed since that morning. And what I’ve come to realize is this:
Just like in photography, a change in environment — a shift in framing — doesn’t just alter the view. It changes the entire story.
Moving to Corsica changed mine.
And in the process, the island taught me a few things I’ll never forget.
1. When you feel lost, “put yourself in the way of beauty”
This quote from
’s Wild has become one of my compass points. Because in that spring of 2017, Corsica offered me beauty freely, generously, without asking for anything in return. And it turned out to be exactly what I needed to find my way back to myself.I didn’t know what was coming next.
But I was learning to pause.
To notice.
To let beauty be enough.
I had spent so many years doing, trying, pushing.
But here, all I was asked to do was be and see.
To soak in beauty in its purest form, no artifice needed.
And in learning to see it again, I started seeing myself again, too.
2. Presence is the purest form of joy
I used to think joy had to be earned.
That you had to deserve it.
And because joy had felt so scarce in my life back then, I started believing maybe I didn’t deserve it anymore.
Maybe I wasn’t trying hard enough to bring it back.
But Corsica taught me something else:
Joy isn’t something you earn.
It’s something you notice.
It’s already there, woven into the everyday.
This rainbow is a perfect example.
A pink sky. A gentle curve of color. Just light bending through water.
It didn’t last long. But in that moment, it was everything.
Joy, too, is like that.
A quiet magic that appears when you stop chasing and start being.
3. Clarity lives in the shadows, too
That fall, just a few months after moving to Corsica, we crossed the sea for a short getaway in Florence (Italy). It was the first time in a long time that we allowed ourselves to take a real break, not for work, not for family obligations. Just us.
But when I stood with the Duomo in sight, I couldn’t stop fidgeting. I couldn’t decide how to photograph it. Every angle felt… off.
Until I stopped trying.
I took a breath, stepped back, and that’s when I noticed it:
a natural frame, born of shadow.
It wasn’t what I thought I was looking for. But it was clear.
Sometimes clarity doesn’t live in the spotlight.
It lives in the shadows, in the pauses, the quieter perspectives, the unexpected compositions.
Corsica taught me that, too.
That not everything has to be center stage to be seen or felt.
And that sometimes the most powerful shifts happen when you step back and let the frame reveal itself.
4. When you stop focusing on the outcome, life has space to surprise you
I spent years trying to get pregnant. Hoping. Holding on.
And then I moved to Corsica.
I softened.
I lived.
I let go.
I didn’t know that letting go would open the door I’d almost given up on.
I started noticing again.
Traveling. Walking by the sea.
Soaking in everything the island had to offer, not as a checklist, but as a way of being.
And that’s when the most beautiful thing happened.
This photo says everything:
Let go.
Let life breathe.
Let yourself be surprised.
5. Every ending carries a promise of a new beginning
That summer evening in the village, the sun dipped behind the mountains.
There wasn’t much left to see, just a slow, deepening hush.
I captured the last traces of light to remind myself: even the most beautiful days end in darkness.
Becoming a mother felt like that sunset.
My deepest joy, though long-awaited, also carried me into the shadow.
Into a long night of unknowing, of shedding old layers and becoming someone new.
But what I’ve come to realize is this:
Every night holds the promise of another morning.
Even when you don’t know what it will look like.
After years of standing in the in-between, last year I felt something shifting.
A softness in the air. A quiet glow on the edge of the sky. The promise of a new dawn about to emerge.
6. You don't have to see it all to feel there is beauty waiting on the other side
After the dark, you don’t always emerge into sharpness.
You begin by seeing differently.
Not with certainty, but with softness.
Not with answers, but with curiosity.
You start noticing beauty again.
Just like that day on the beach.
It wasn’t a planned photo, just a detail that caught my eye: the texture of the rough bark.
As I moved in closer, this ethereal image appeared.
Between the two tree trunks: the sea, the mountain, the sky, and a faint glimpse of a port.
Blurred, distant, barely there.
You couldn’t see each detail clearly. But you could feel the beauty. You knew it was there.
Corsica taught me what shifting my lens really meant:
Not changing the scene, but changing how you relate to it.
Leaning closer. Framing it differently.
Letting it move you, even when it’s not in focus yet.
Sometimes, you only need a glimpse to know something good is waiting for you. Even if you can't quite see it yet.
7. There’s magic in the now
It was a summer walk in the village.
Ordinary. Quiet.
I was lost in thought, my one-year-old daughter in her stroller.
And then I looked up, and she was there.
Perched on a stone wall, completely at ease, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
I laughed out loud.
Corsica has a way of doing that: placing small wonders in your path when you least expect them.
Not grand. Not performative. Just… real.
Magic doesn’t always announce itself.
Sometimes, it’s tucked into the everyday.
In stone and sunlight.
In a cow on a wall.
All it asks is that you’re paying attention.
8. Become your lighthouse
These eight years in Corsica made me realize:
I didn’t come here to be seen.
I came here to see more clearly.
Corsica taught me to sit still and start noticing.
To stop chasing and start being.
And in the quiet, in the soft unfolding, something happened.
I began to trust my own rhythm.
To let myself be more fully, more honestly… me.
To let my inner light shine again.
Not like a spotlight.
But like the steady beam of a lighthouse,
built from stone and storm-weathered truth.
A light that maybe, one day, will help others find their way home.
Wherever you are on your path — arriving, unfolding, or simply pausing to notice — I hope these frames remind you: the story can shift. And beauty might already be waiting, just outside the frame.
All you need is a little trust and an open heart.
Which lesson resonated with you the most?
this text, together with those beautiful, beautiful images.. is so healing 💕💓💗💖✨💓… thanks so much for putting it out into the world 💛✨
I can feel the quiet and deep peacefulness of your world so clearly through your photos and words. Thank you for this soul-scrub today, Maïlys 🐚