Photography Journey: Part 2

2011: Boston. Shadows were intriguing!

I was very lazy and had no idea what a photography business entailed when I so proudly (and stupidly) announced I was going to run my own photography business. Sure, I had some photo shoots...a couple of them even paid! But they weren't polished, they were for "fun" and I made no effort to build my business. I never networked, I never bought studio equipment or went out looking for work...I just assumed it'd come to me. And the more I waited, doing nothing, the more nothing happened. I fooled myself thinking that shooting my friends was "building up my porfolio" and would help bring in business. I think if I could go back, I'd pat myself on the head.

It was a friend of mine who changed my mind. He was always talking to me about school, pushing and encouraging me to go. And in the end, I did decide to go, all because of the advice of this friend. Through his eyes, I realized that I wasn't getting anywhere and school would help me get somewhere. Even if it didn't help me with the photography, it'd be something to do while waiting for my business to get up and running. Plus, if I wanted my own business, I should probably know a little more about the business side of things.

I remember the day I told my parents I was going...and I remember asking my dad, "What do you think about me going?" I can't remember his exact reply but he told me I had his support but that he and mom were worried that school would change me. I assured him quite confidently that it wouldn't. What is it about being 20 and being so sure of the world?

2011: Oh selfies. And oh, what lighting. 

That same morning, as I was talking of school plans, my friend...the same one who encouraged me to go to school...died. I've talked about my friend's death on here before, hinting at the depression that I struggled with. And I only bring it up again because of the impact it had when I began school and because it was partially because of this friend that I am where I am today, that I am who I am today. 

2011: "Twins" assignment for class. 

The day I went into school to meet with an adviser and set up classes is very memorable for me. After a little mix-up about who was supposed to sit down with me, I finally got a meeting with the man who would become my photography professor. I'd already decided that if I were going to school then I wouldn't leave without a degree, even if that meant I had to major in Business since there was no degree in Photography. After discussing things, however, I discovered that the school was just beginning to offer a photography program where one could earn an Associates degree in photography, rather than just a certificate. Eagerly, I signed up for the first 5 classes listed. "Intro to Mass Media", "English 101", Math, Intro to Photography, and "Designing Business Graphics".

It was a hell of a semester. I had no idea what I was getting into. 5 classes was overwhelming and a heavy load on top of everything in my life. I came home from my first day of classes, called up a friend and burst into tears, bawling that I just couldn't do it. It was the attitude I had all semester long, under the pressure, I was just a basket case. Half-way through the semester, I remember feeling like I was a complete failure and always tired...school, depression...it was hard. My parents suggested perhaps I should drop out and go back to school at a later time. I refused, unable to bear the idea of going back to school and going through it all again. I plugged on and felt relief when the semester was over. In a way, my first semester was the most difficult but I survived.

I just didn't realize how long and hard the rest of school would be, as well as fun and memorable. 

Kindness

It is so easy to get captured in my own head and to believe that my pain is all that matters. My tears, my fears, my hurts...what you feel is what grabs your attention. In those moments of feeling lost and alone it is easy to believe that there is no pain greater than your own.

As an INFJ, it is very easy for me to see others' pain and to empathize, but even I sometimes put my pain first. Having been raised with the mindset that humbling means putting others first, I struggled to ever care for myself. Then, one day, I accepted that it was okay, it was even good to put myself first.

Your own pain and tears and fears are real. They matter. How I feel matters. Sometimes, I have to put myself first because not to do so would mean breaking down, falling to pieces, not functioning. Our bodies and our minds, our physical and spiritual beings need the attention and time to recover. I say this because I do not want you to feel that I am promoting NEVER putting yourself first. Because I'm not.

However. What I've discovered in this journey of self-healing and self-discovery and allowing myself to grow and mend, is that it is so easy to put yourself first all the time. To avoid things that cause you discomfort, even things that could help others.

I have realized that it is very easy to be kind only to yourself and redirect the annoyance and the grievances you once would push on yourself on to others.

Learning to love yourself, being kind, self-healing...it's not about pointing the hatred and the annoyance and the drive of perfectionism onto others. It's about disposing of these feelings altogether so that you are not filling your life with them or someone else's life.

It is easy to get into the habit of thinking, "I've had greater pain than she has and if I can pick myself back up, then she can too!" When you direct kindness inward, don't forget to direct it outward too. Clean out the hate, the vile feelings, but don't just push them out into the world. Throw them away.

It is hard to choose to be kind sometimes: to yourself and to others. What I don't always realize is that kindness is a choice. I don't want to lose the empathy I have as an INFJ, I don't want to lose my characteristic of always rooting and fighting for the underdog, I don't want to lose my sensitivity to others' pain and my urge to help those in need, no matter how great or small their need is. I also do not want to lose the art of being kind to myself, stop my practice of learning to forgive or accept myself. It is a hard balance to achieve. I want to blow out all my anger and self-hatred into a place where it cannot hurt, instead of redirecting it from myself to others.

I want to choose to be kind. Sometimes this means putting others before myself...sometimes all it means is being patient, even when I feel like people should suck it up. Sometimes, it means sucking it up myself. Whatever I do, wherever I go, whomever I become...above all, I want to be kind, the kind of kindness that God instilled in my personality. It's a choice, kindness is...so 2014, let's be kind: both to myself and everyone.

365

Day 298:
Your worries gone in the length of an episode

Day 299:
Love this quote

Day 300:
Photographer's world

Day 301:
Re-read before seeing the movie!

Day 302:
Moment at school

Day 303:
Halloween candy from co-worker!

Day 304:
Katniss for a day!

Day 305:
My friend Scarlett sends the best letters. :) 

Day 306:
Path

Day 307:
Blurred trees

Day 308:
"Waddah" as one of my Lego kiddos calls it

Day 309:
Selfie

Day 310:
Once a year...

Day 311:
Love this line

Day 312:
Laughed out loud

Day 313:
Love this quote so incredibly much! Great book!

Day 314:
Oh the class of royalty...

Day 315:
Journaling

Day 316:
Study essentials 

Day 317:
Psych exam? Ack! Must study!

Day 318:
I drink 3-4 cups a day!

Day 319:
Just, ya know, snugglin. 

Day 320:
Yeah, we was tiiiiiiiired

Day 321:
Peace out

Day 322:
Oh, buggah, I've boxed myself in!

On and On

New England is famous for its autumns. Clear, blue skies...the brilliant foliage...cinnamon, pies, pumpkin spice lattes, and...apple picking. In spite of school and the stress of homework, I treasure autumn and it ranks high up there as one of my favorite seasons.

Summer is beautiful and wonderful in all of its goldenness, but there's something equally magical about fall. I look around me and see the difference in color of the sunshine, the way the dark comes earlier, the last vibrancy of colors clinging on before winter comes, and I smell the difference in the air.

I was driving toward my sister's place yesterday, Mat Kearney's "On and On" playing as I rolled down my windows. The breeze was cool, the sun still on green leaves, looking like summer, but the taste of fall in the air.

It's hard to imagine goodness, happiness, love...it's hard to know that I am not alone...when I'm at my blackest. It's hard to realize that there are patches of sunshine shining through the dark woods, until you're standing in them. It's hard to smile through fears.

Mat Kearney crooned,

On and on and on we pray, we can break into a brighter day. Nothing worth anything ever goes down easy.
On and on and on we go. I don't understand this windy road. Nothing worth anything ever goes down easy.

And he's right. Nothing worthy anything ever goes down easy. Winning the fight makes the prize that much more valuable.

Facing the fears make the confidence in the end worthwhile.

The smiles and laughter when you've grown through the tears suddenly feel so much more special.

As a photographer, when you look through the lens, you don't just look for the beauty. Your eye scans through the eyepiece, searching for the ugliness, in order to diminish it and exposing the true beauty.

You compose, you expose...you shoot to make beauty your focus. You work to make the perfect picture in the end. You don't just snap the button and have magic. You get magic it by working for it.
You use the ugliness to your advantage.

As I walked through an apple farm with my family today, falling in love with autumn all over again, noting the way the color of the light made everything feel...captivating...I noted that somehow it was worth it all. It is worth the working all week long, the constant studying, the stress, the tears, the fears of the work week to enjoy special, happy moments.

The hard work makes the moments of relaxing that much more restful. Wearing comfy clothes, laughing with little siblings, drinking apple soda...I soaked it all in. Memorizing details, capturing images in my mind as well as on my phone.  Nothing worth anything goes down easy, yet we struggle on and on. Because these moments are worth it all, in spite of the hardships.

Happy Autumn!

To Laugh

Do you know what I loved about my job at summer camp? Who I was.
Not to say I was someone other than me, that I had switched personalities or anything...on the contrary, I was simply me. The beauty about my job was that, it didn't matter what I wore, how how I looked...the kids still loved me. They still hung out with me, they didn't give me weird looks, they didn't expect me to look polished. All they wanted was my attention, for me to laugh at their jokes, to spin the jumprope for them, to hold hula hoop contests with them, to draw pictures with them, to talk to them, to connect with them, to be silly, to joke, to smile, to make silly faces, to laugh...

I was more me than I've ever been on any job. And the beautiful thing was, being around those children made me confident that who I am, as a person, is okay. In fact, it's more than okay...I'm great as me. These children boosted my confidence in ways that no one else could!

Tiny hands slipping into mine as they said quietly with ease, "I love you, Samantha." *heartmelt*

Strong, small arms gripped around my waist as they yell, "HUG TIME!"

Sneaky grins as they shout, "Heads up!" and throw frisbees at my head.

Bursts of giggles as they watch me demonstrate the hula dance moves we learned...very, very awkwardly.

So much patience as they taught me to hula hoop properly.

But best of all, shared laughter as we proved just how silly we could be, how silly *I* could be. The fake voices, the idiotic dances, silly songs, fish faces, and the confidence and self-esteem to pull it all off without once feeling self-conscious.

Because with my kiddos, it didn't matter. There was no feeling self-conscious with my kids. They saw me for who I was, whether or not I looked a wreck or looked awkwardly dorky. And they still loved me for it. They probably loved me all the more because of it. And instead of feeling incredibly self-conscious or embarrassed, I found myself laughing. Not really at myself or at anything in particular...just laughing because there was the love to laugh all around me.

At camp I found that life is surrounded by opportunities of laughter. When you feel like a dork, when someone does something silly, even when nothing is particularly funny but you feel a surge of happiness you just laugh.

Shyness, tears, loneliness, grumpiness...it's all taken away when you sit down next to a child and begin to talk, to share stories, to grin, make silly faces...all leading to laughter.
Those kiddos of mine showed me how wonderful it is to be me.

They taught me to laugh.

To Smile

Smile. 

I am working as a camp counselor at a day camp. I am in charge of the younger children's group...the 5-7 year olds. 

As I stand watch over them at lunch time, I look across the pavilion, and the eyes of one of my kiddos catches mine. 

Their whole face lights up in the widest smile you can imagine. It is so infectious, that you can't help but smile back. It is so sweet and adoring that you just grin with delight. 

I stand, watching my kids playing, getting along. I smile as I see my youngest kiddo comforting her older friend over a scraped knee. 

I smile as I see the lil boys admiring the blood they acquire from a fall. 

I smile when I see a kiddo running toward me, arms out-stretched, ready to tackle me in a hug. 

I smile when I'm greeted each morning with a, "SAAAAAM! Guess WHAT??" The excitement, the enthusiasm, the delight, the joy I see every day in my kiddos. It is addicting, it is infectious. 

Even on the days that my kids are dropped off in tears because they don't want their moms to leave...minutes later, they see me and turn those frowns upside down. 

These kids teach me every day to greet life with a smile. To smile through the tears, to seize each moment with utter delight! To be so enthralled with life and the opportunities in front of me with such enthusiasm. To love life to the fullest. 

These kids teach me to smile. 

There Goes a Fighter

Life is about the mess-ups. The screw-ups. Falling down. The scars, emotional and physical. The pain, the hurt, the heartache.

It is these less than perfect moments that mold us into who we are. It is how we learn, it is what strengthens us, builds us up, causes us to become wiser and able to face what comes our way.


I've mentioned several times before that I am judged. But I am also accepted. I think, this year, the biggest step I've taken in my life and in helping me grow, is to accept who I am. I feel like eyes are on me, expecting me to be perfect, yet breaths are held, just waiting for me to fall and to fail.  People who disagree with my life choices, who are watching me, thinking that I WILL fail because they think I am not in alignment with God.

I see my friend Amy as she struggles with criticism and a lack of understanding as she embarks on a journey to a new country. People who watch her, expecting her, wanting her to fail.

I see my friend, a girl who chose a career over motherhood and how she is attacked for being ungodly...being watched by people who expect to see her fail because she's not following the supposed "will of God" for her life.

I see another friend who is seen as different and lives in sin for his life choices. I see the people around him, watching him, waiting for God to "strike him down".

I see a dear friend struggling with health issues and yet not letting that control her.

I see a kindred spirit pushing through physical restraints to accomplish her dreams.


What do I see in these friends? I see fighters. I see fear, judgment, pain, hurt, criticisms, scars, screw-ups, and heartache all faced with brave faces and strong wills yearning to overcome anything for lives meant to be lived. I see fighters fighting against the norm, fighting against the crowds boo-ing against them, all because they feel called to something. I see fighters living LIFE.

And I am inspired, I am filled with hope, I am encouraged by these people. I am drawn to them, I am in love with their bravery.

To you brave people in my life and to those of you out there who push through the hardships and to myself, I say,

Give em hell, turn their heads

Gonna live life til we're dead.

Give me scars, give me pain

Then they'll say to me, say to me, say to me

There goes the fighter, there goes the fighter

Here comes the fighter

That's what they'll say to me, say to me, say to me,

This one's a fighter

Part 3: I Am Loved

As I said already, even I struggle with accepting someone, showing them tolerance when they are so very different from myself. It's hard in those moments when you really don't understand why someone is the way they are, or why they make decisions as they do. But sometimes, when you make the deep connection of true, real friendship, you just *do*...there's no thought or question in your mind that you will accept them, you will tolerate them, because they are your bosom friend. 

Amy already shared with you her side of our story, now I am going to share mine. 

Amy was right...we are very different. And yet somehow it works. When I first met Amy, she had become a new member of a girls' only forum I ran. I intimidated her (me! intimidating HER of all people!!) and she...well, I distinctly remember thinking she and her sister were the two sweetest girls I'd ever met. So sweet that it didn't feel POSSIBLE. Boy, was I wrong. ;) It is possible. But that sweetness also hides a mischievous nature and an abundance of silliness. 

We both struggled as teens, discovering who we were, trying to become the perfect godly women we *should* be, and often we would nearly headbutt over how to go about that. Almost. But never quite. Because even during that time of being completely different, we tolerated each other. We accepted each other. All because we loved each other. 

I remember the one time where we each were intent on converting the other. And we agreed to present our case to each other. I sent her a book on keeping the Saturday Sabbath and Biblical Feast Days. She sent me the DVD of "Amazing Grace: The History & Theology of Calvinism". I laugh now, looking back...the two of us so determined not to be changed but wanting to be tolerant, and both of us digging into each other's beliefs to debate with each other at a later time. I remember our discussion after we both read/watched each other's book/dvd. I was growing frustrated that Amy wasn't appearing to understand and then I realized...she was probably thinking the same thing about me. And then it changed for me. I learned to accept that it was okay. 

That wasn't the true test of our acceptance for one another. In fact, when the true test came, I didn't even see it as a test. But looking back, I see how much I put Amy through and my heart just overflows that she stuck through the worst of times...for me. 

My best friend died. Quite suddenly and the impact of it all caused me to break down. In just a matter of days, I shoved everyone out of my life to grieve on my own. The sympathy, the love, the desire people had to show me they cared and wanted to talk and wanted to be there for me drove me crazy. I could not stand it. And I remember getting so angry and frustrated that Amy would not leave me alone. I was so blinded by my depression that I could not see that she was genuinely concerned for me. That she loved me so much that she wanted to stand with me while I hurt. Over and over and over again, I kept pushing her away. And it hurt her. So much. Now, it breaks my heart that it did. 

But. She did not give up on me. She waited. And when I finally let her back in my life, my testing her hadn't ended. I had changed through my depression. I was a completely different person. I'm sure I was overly-serious to the point of being obnoxious, I was even more blunt and I probably had a "I don't give a shit" kind of attitude toward the world. 

She accepted me, all the same. All because she loved me. 

To this day, Amy and I are still vastly different in so many ways. Seriously. How can my bestie love "The Newsies"?? THE NEWSIES! And Justin Bieber! *facepalm* And yet, if you talk to her, she'll say, "How can MY bestie love 'Harry Potter'??? And 'Napoleon Dynamite'??"

Oh, gosh, can she STILL drive me crazy! This girl is the energizer bunny compared to my tortoise self. She is always going going going, no matter what. And I am the evil Dr. Jekyll & Mr. Hyde if I don't get enough sleep! Man, this girl puts up with so much crap from me, it's ridiculous! Oh, yes, and the creepy way she gets me to sing Taylor Swift in the car is just...embarrassing. I don't know how she does it.

But you know what? It doesn't matter. As the days and years go by, we seem to grow more alike in what is important. And when you agree on what's important and when you learn how to accept and tolerate differences, nothing holds you back in creating a beautiful friendship. 

Amy. This wonderful girl is amazing. She listens to my every rant with nothing but love and encouragement. She prays for me, no matter what the issue is. When we talk about getting together, she never puts it off. She is always ready to commit to a plan. We connect every. single. day, whether it be text or Facebook. People think friendship can last through random visits and sporadic chats. And maybe it can. But a best friendship lasts because of the strong commitment between two people. Amy is committed through not just the good times but the worst of times. She never gives up on me. And you don't know how that makes me cry. To be so accepted because of a strong love. 

Amy doesn't judge me. In fact, I learned through her example what true acceptance looks like. True acceptance is unconditional love. Do you know how rare it is to receive unconditional love? I thought about it and realized just how FEW people in my life right now love me unconditionally. How FEW friends love me unconditionally. And pretty much at the top of the list is Amy. 

I am going to make a reference that Amy won't get since she is so not a nerdy person who watches Doctor Who. *AHEM* *COUGH* *LOOKS POINTEDLY AT HER* 

But Amy, my bestie, so to speak, really is "...the girl who waited". She waited for me through the bad time and was still there when I returned to her. Her friendship, her sweetness, her acceptance, and most importantly, her love was stronger than ever. 

Do I understand her, with all her energy and silliness and her intense dislike of coffee (seriously, how are we even friends??)? Not always. But her love for me and her acceptance of me reaches beyond the petty things. And that is what connects us. Our love and acceptance for each other. Amy taught me to love unconditionally as a best friend. A love so strong that not even separation, whether it be caused by depression or bodies of water, can end it. 

Amy accepts me. And I know that because of her, I am loved. 

"Writers are desperate people..."

For each book I finish reading, I bring home two more. It's a vicious, never-ending circle. And I love it.

So much of my reading stacks these days are made up of children's and young adult novels. Why? Two reasons really...I read when I'm tired these days, and the last thing I want is a particularly deep book that needs my entire mind to focus on. (No, I save those books for when I'm most energized in my mind!) Instead I choose children's and young adult books because of my love for them. The simple yet meaningful or total fluff and fun! stories that you can get totally sucked into, no matter what age you are.

But most importantly, I have been immersing myself into the world of young adult novels because I am writing a young adult novel. Part of the whole process of writing this novel has me digging deep into the mind of young, teenage Sam as well as reading book after book of young adults struggling with some issue in their lives. The language, the culture, the thought-process...it's like research for a  fictional story. On top of all that I have also dug out my own journals from ages 16-20 and oh the flood of memories comes back! Experiencing those feelings all over again, understanding, sympathizing with, and cringing at my old self. I went through those same novel-like moments of struggling to discover who I am.

In the odd yet brief, free moments that I have when I'm not reading, I am writing. My novel is coming along so slowly because the words have to be right with this novel. The understanding and opinions and attitudes of my characters...the struggles...all of it has to be as real as possible. But a little bit every other day or so, several sentences are added and the more I get to know my characters, the more I relate to them.

Isn't that why we read in the first place? We relate and yet it's not real...merely a distraction from life.
I won't lie, I have thought several times of giving up on this novel because I feel like I relate too much with the characters, and because all this reading and digging back into my past has brought back hard memories as well as pleasant ones.  But there is a side to me, the teenage Sam who wants this novel to be written. A book about young people who struggle and grow and crave understanding. It is a novel that must be written. So, here I am, comfortably situated on the couch, pillows behind my back, Pandora playing, and a cup of tea nearby as I let the words slip from fingers to keys. I know it won't be a great novel and most likely will never be published, but it will be mine. It is already mine...words that are a part of me in a way that some people cannot understand. And even if no one ever reads it, I know there will be a sense of accomplishment and satisfaction once I've finished this novel, because I am a writer and sometimes there are words that just need to be written.

Isn't that why writers write, after all? It's not because we love it, although we do...there are days where we absolutely loathe writing. It's not because we are passionate about words, although we are...there are days where we passionately wish we'd never write another word. It's because we must. However, I find that people assume that because I'm a writer that I write everyday. Normally, this is true...these days I tend to write every day, either in the form of a letter or a blogpost or a journal entry. However, I can go weeks, even months without writing a single word for myself. This is especially true during a school semester. I get over-loaded with essays and papers and assignments for school writing that my desire for any other writing becomes burnt out. Do I believe a writer has to write everyday to be a writer? No, I don't. I think a writer writes when he or she simply needs to. If there is the desire to write and you follow up on that desire, you are a writer, in my book.

Tell me, why do you write? What do you write? Perhaps the words come out in a trickle or in a steady stream. Perhaps they appear once every blue moon or perhaps every day. I am not a strong writer in the sense that my writing is spectacular, nor do I fool myself to believe that many people read this blog or enjoy it. But I write because the words come. More often than not they come messily and in a confused ball that seems to just spew out of my mind.

So, yes, please, tell me, why do you write? Share something with me, ask about guest-posting on my blog! Share your blog! Share a novel, a poem, a journal entry...anything! I am intensely curious about other writers who write because they must.

S'all good...

Warm weather means one very important thing: working out.

I've restarted doing the couch to 5K plan and I am amazed at my mindset this year. While last year I would have to drag myself out of bed each morning, completely unwillingly...some mornings I'd just skip it...and while running, I constantly battled negative thoughts about how I couldn't make the mark or how horrible I was at it.

This year, I get up each morning I'm supposed to run, and I make myself do it. And as I run, I am filled with a totally different voice. This year it is all, "You can do this. You can even push a little farther than today's goal. Just do a little more, a little more..." And funniest thing of all, I find myself actually craving to go running on my "rest" days instead of just every other day. It's as if my body is craving the endorphins...and that beautiful feeling of becoming stronger each day and knowing that I *can* do this.

After I got off work today, I dragged my running shoes back on to meet my doll-face Gen-Gen for some walking.
"I don't want to do this," I grumbled. I thought of the car drive there, the walking, and the drive home and just wanted to be lazy. (Sorry, Gen.)

But once my shoes were on, my music blaring in the car, with the windows rolled down, and wind blowing in, I had to admit...it was good.

waiting for slow-poke gen-gen

I walked nearly 3 miles with my girly as we talked and spilled our guts to each other, ranging from deep conversation on life and our purposes to grumblings about periods and lack of cute guys in our lives. And it was good. Good for the mind and the soul, to connect to someone who feels as I do, who sees the world through a similar yet different perspective.

I stumbled on a rock down one hill and twisted my ankle, having to come to a complete stop until the jarring pain minimized. (Then nearly choked on a gulp of water when the girly made me laugh. We seriously are awkward.) 
Now here I am icing my ankle, praying it's not bad and that it'll be fine to go running on Friday. Because running...it has been good for me. So we're hoping it's all good so that I can be good to run good to feel good. S'all good.