Lately, I’ve noticed that lots of the people I meet ask me how I got into photography.
It’s such a simple question, but it always hits me in a tender spot, because my love affair with taking photos feels special and sacred. Much like my love affair with coaching, I only want to share the real, vulnerable story with people who get it.
It strikes me as funny, too, that I’m now a professional photographer, because until maybe five years ago, I barely ever took photos. I remember one high school trip to Gettysburg where I brought my camera with me (of course) but postponed the picture-taking until the tail end of the trip. This wasn’t odd for me; it was my usual picture-taking (or non-picture-taking, perhaps I should say) habit.
I remember having the distinct feeling that taking out my camera made me too vulnerable. Maybe I was afraid that someone would laugh at me for the things I wanted to capture on film. Perhaps I worried that I would hold others up if I paused to take note of a moment. I’m truly unsure what, exactly, the reason was. I just know that I wasn’t a photo-taker.
Nor was I much of a film-developer. Every few years, I’d clean out the drawers in my childhood bedroom and find a half-used disposable camera. By that time I’d have forgotten what was on the roll of film, and I would usually end up chucking it in the garbage, next to the broken crayons and rusted paper clips. Even now, I can’t say that I’m terribly curious about the photos that I took but never developed. They simply do not matter to me.
This may have been where it started.
I think my metamorphosis into a photographer began with food blogs. I gobbled them up for years starting sometime in college, and then, four years ago, Adriana and I started one. Right from the very beginning, photography felt like a lovely way to capture my appreciation for good food. I remember writing this first post and feeling smitten with the whole process.
Even though my photos were yellowed because I’d often photograph my creations at night, after a long day of work, I loved them. I loved that I was finding new ways to connect with food, with my dear friend who was my blogging buddy, and with fellow food bloggers around the globe.
After Adriana and I had been at the whole food blogging thing for a while, Mary gave me a fancypants SLR camera, which is when the real (photo) fun began. I spent afternoons photographing things like a lone cast iron skillet on the dining room table or a generous blob of freshly-made butter. It felt deeply satisfying to capture and express the beauty I saw in these objects.
Coaching enters, stage left.
Through the labyrinthine world of blogs, I discovered personal development websites. When I fell into that rabbit hole, I came face-to-face with the world of life coaching, which seduced me into staying the night and never leaving. (Not that I made its work difficult; I had a feeling coaching was for me from the very beginning.) Within a few months, I had decided I was destined to become a coach.
Then, I had this idea. This sort of easily-discardable idea that I somehow chose to stick with:
What if I took photos of people, and charged money for it, and then used that money to pay for coaching school?
I’m unsure where this idea even originated, or how I decided to attempt it. I had never thought of myself as the sort of person who could simply start doing something and make money from it in order to reach a goal. The fact that I actually did this, instead of chucking the thought before getting my hopes up, is probably thanks to my own first life coach, whom I was working with at the time.
Coaching just had this way of making things feel possible. Which was the whole reason I’d fallen for it in the first place.
Then I started taking portraits. And it felt good.
I then started taking photos of my friends. And Mary. And every member of my family, pretty much (not that that’s saying much, because my family happens to be very small, but no matter). It felt good.
I liked finding a spot to take photos. Like the blocked-off street on the Lower East Side where I photographed my friend Ellen. It felt good to capture her beaming optimism on film.
I liked the way each person I photographed was different. Some were keen to have their photo taken. Some weren’t entirely sure, at first. Some were absurdly photogenic, and I’d come away from the session wondering how they got out of becoming face models. Some I’d have to trick into smiling their real, true smile.
When I photographed people, I felt a lot of love. I saw a cornucopia of beauty in all of them. During the session, of course, but also after the session, when I was editing. Cropping a corner here, adjusting the white balance there. Deciding whether this one should be black and white or full color. Often, I’d have to stop in the midst of my editing, thinking, my heavens, the light on the delicate lines on her face is simply stunning.
When I took people’s portraits, my heart overflowed.
And so it happened that even after I had enrolled in coaching school, I continued to photograph people. I knew that showing people how beautiful they were was a part of my mission, even before I knew why that was.
I knew how I felt when I photographed people. That my heart felt like it was overflowing with love and appreciation for humanity.
That’s why I keep it up. The photography, that is. I know, deep in my heart of hearts, that when I do the things that fill me up with warm, fuzzy, boundless love, that’s got to be a good thing for the world.
