Last February I wrote,
“I want to use photography to create a space for people to feel powerful and beautiful and to tell their stories. I want more than just portraits: I want stories, I want life.”
But I didn’t know what that would look like.
I didn’t know where to start.
More times than I can count, I said, “This isn’t going to work.” More times than I can count, I said, “I can’t do this.” But my friends said, “Just let this be the first of many tries.” They said, “Trust your heart.” The last time I saw him before he left the country, one of my dearest friends said something that I want to remember—I made him write it down. He said,
“You’re afraid of where you’re going and you’re afraid of making mistakes. But that is a low eyesight. All that energy in you is aimed higher, and your feet have to touch the ground.”
He said, “Don’t worry. Keep moving.”
A week ago I was climbing this hill with Heather, and there was the moon over our heads and the sun setting and the wide blue river below us, and she kept saying, “It gets better. Just wait until you see the top.”
I don’t know where I’m going with this.
But every time I take a photo and every time I tell a story, I know, a little bit more, what I need to do and where I belong. It feels like waking up. It feels like taking a deep breath. It feels like finding my way home.