Let's Make a List

If I am going to make this photography business work, I need to remember what I'm good at. Let's make a list.

• I am pretty good at composing a photo.
• I enjoy seeing my images printed.
• I enjoy taking the photographs - looking for beautiful things AND discovering how I can make regular things look beautiful or compelling.
• I enjoy feedback I get for my photos that turn out well.
• I enjoy making people feel good by showing them my photos (or something like that).
• I could use extra money, but also could wait until I could count on that income on a regular basis.
• I have much of the equipment I would need to get started.
• I love learning new things (and have plenty to learn, starting with technical aspects of the equipment I already have).
• I know how to access the information I need to move forward.
• I have been recognized where I work for my photography skills, even though I'm not a "photographer" there.
• My employer has used at least one of my photos (taken at work, on company time) in promotional materials - ie, I have the beginnings of a portfolio.

Seems solid. What's holding me back?

• I hold fast to an illogical argument that, because I am not already a professional photographer, I can never be a professional photographer.
• Um...

Everything else I can think of falls into that category. 

What if my students thought that way? Let's think about this for a moment. They would be no-where. They would be doomed to live the lives of non-high school graduates who really want to be high school graduates. They would have to click "less than high school diploma" their whole lives. A couple weeks ago, I saw dozens of students proudly march across that stage - mothers with little babies; men who had been in prison; individuals who were, quite literally, homeless; all of them - every one of them - people who had already "failed" at education at least once. Education was hard for them - not their strength - yet there they were, smiling as they got their diplomas. All done. Successful. Thirty percent planning - already - to go to college. To keep going to school! Who knows if they actually got the hang of it after a while, or if they just decided they had to keep going and were going to do it no matter what. 

I want to be strong like them. I want to do something that is hard. (I would prefer it not be so hard, but it is and I want to do it, so I want to do something hard.) My two Master's degrees look, to outsiders, amazing. Very few people have one advanced degree, let alone two. Yes, they were somewhat a logistical miracle to accomplish, especially the first one, when I did the first year pregnant and parenting a toddler and the second year with a toddler and a newborn. And I wasn't able to get funding so as to not have student loan payments until I die. But it wasn't HARD. And I loved it. I love school. I love it to the point where, these days, I realize that the second Master's was done to escape my rotten marriage. It sucked up all my attention, which was what I needed at the time, I guess. 

Now it's time to do something hard. 

I'm Not Giving Up

Many times, I have had every intention of sitting down and starting my DAILY blog about my booming photography business (that I don't have yet). Many times, I have restarted. That means that I had stopped previously. Many times - in fact, every time - I have admonished myself for not trying hard enough, for not being consistent, for not "just doing it". No patience. Just a lot of trash talk.

If a student disses him or herself, I may very likely roll up a piece of paper and whack that person on the shoulder with it (slowly, while carefully watching their face - only smiling people get whacked!). If I diss myself, I take it as gospel and decide I'm worthless. Why is that?

I was a successful student. I got decent (not great) grades in high school, and did even better in college - my enormous student loan payments attest to the fact that I have three degrees - two Master's. What I suck at, so far, is starting a photography business. It's just not something I'm good at, so I chisel that "fact" in stone and give up. I took a photography class as a high school student - I didn't have time in my schedule, so my mom paid for me to take a class on weekends at the local community college. I didn't get far, though, because there was a creeper in the class and I didn't like being in the darkroom with him. What did I do? I quit, I'm sure with out telling anyone about that guy. I just gave up.

But I keep coming back to photography, and not just as a hobby - why? There must be something in it for me. 

Starting Again

A couple weeks ago, I attended the graduation ceremony at the organization where I teach. Seventy six students marched across the stage and received their high school diplomas-certainly a momentous occasion in anyone's life, but for these folks it was especially wonderful.

I teach in an adult education program. Each of these students was disenfranchised in some way by the public school system and they all finished their secondary education with us instead. Some left school as soon  as they turned 16 (or more recent ones, 17, as the law has now changed). Some left with only a few weeks left in their senior year - some even sat for the full 12 years and ended up as little as a half credit short of graduating. Some stopped attending around 8th grade, and some were squeezed out of learning in elementary school by a too-fast curriculum and then passed along until they could officially drop out. Graduates ranged from 17 or 18 years old to grandparents - people in their 50s and 60s.

One of the reasons why I am good at what I do in my day job is that I am able to greet each new student as a capable human being, despite what may be strong evidence to the contrary. I don't care what problems they may have eventually caused after years of struggling in a school system that wasn't right for them. I don't care if they are with me because they choose school over juvie. I don't care if they have pending court dates. I don't care how many times they have tried to start with adult education and then dropped off the face of the earth before returning - the average record for adult education students is that they will graduate upon their third re-start. That means that, for each student who is successful on their first try, others will restart many many times before finishing. Of course, that statistic only takes into account the ones who do eventually finish. There is no way to figure in those who don't.

I am patient with my students. If they need to take many, many breaks and start with work they have already mastered, that is what we do. If they need constant reassurance, they get it. If they need to be served pizza for good attendance, I do it. If they need to march around the building to present their good test score to everyone who will listen, I escort them. I take what they can give and know that it's more important for them to feel successful than it is for them to, on the first day, look successful on paper. At the end, they will know how to be a successful student, not at the beginning. I am patient with them.

Why am I not patient with myself?

Business Notes to Self, 101

Hi, it's me, in a state of confusion about technology. Weird.

I took the U. S. Small Business Administration self-assessment for people interested in starting a business today, and somehow the assessment figured out that I'm not ready to start a business. Maybe it was my answer to the first question, "Are you ready now to start your business?", to which I answered No. I really have little to no idea what I'm doing, aside from how to compose a good picture. That, combined with my introversion and lack of organization skills, hubris and competitive spirit, pretty much sealed up the coffin.

In addition to the gentle message that starting a business isn't for everyone, the results included a starting place for those who aren't ready to give up, which was to take a free, online course called "Small Business Primer: Strategies for success". I found the course (which oddly is aimed specifically at American Indians but I decided that, aside from my not qualifying for specific funding, the course would probably apply to anyone) and decided to give it a go. (Ok, maybe I am more ready to start down this path than I give myself credit for.)

About three slides in (and after realizing that the course is more informative with the audio unmuted), I realized that I need to take notes because some of the information was both pretty good and new to me. But where do I take these notes? I think I have OneNote on my smartphone, and I think that's the app for taking notes, but my phone is small and I can't type 60WPM on my phone, so I looked up the computer version. Hmmm. It's Microsoft software and it's $80. Next idea please. This brings me around to explaining the first line of this essay: Hi, it's me, in a state of confusion about technology.

People have been taking notes since before there was paper, never mind computers, so why is this a technology issue? I could just use a notebook. It's because of my (lack of) organizational skills. I would certainly lose a notebook, or at the very least, not have it with me when I need it. If it was small enough I could keep it in my camera bag, but events over the last several months have led me to not even having my camera with me at all times. Plus, given the choice between my camera (fun, easy and creative) and a notebook (focus on the more difficult aspect of the photography business), I would probably choose the camera.

So what are my requirements for this technology application?
1. Un-losable.
2. Accessible from anywhere (internet).
3. Easy to create non-linear notes.
4. Free.
5. I can't decide whether I want it public or private. I guess it doesn't matter.

I could use Blogger, but it's not non-linear. Ditto Google Docs. I'm out of ideas. But rather than wait for the epiphany (and in the spirit of entrepreneurship) I will do two pro-active things: I will post to Facebook to ask for ideas, and I will just make a Google Docs file to use for now. Once those things are done, I may just reward myself with a little camera time.

What Does it Mean to See?

As a photographer, one looks, frames, considers... I've been thinking about how much time and money I want to invest in photography. Do I want it to pay me back? Do I want to build up my equipment in hopes of selling more pictures? What do I do with the thousands of pictures I already have? Why haven't I printed more pictures and why aren't they hanging up in my house? Can I make a living doing this some day? What do I tell my students who want to become photographers?

Then I am confronted with a beautiful photograph, most unexpectedly. In a setting where I am not expecting to even be looking at photographs. Almost excused away by a brush-off comment, though maybe as a way to protect the self. And as part of a collection of photographs, just "pictures I took of myself... I wanted to try it. They are nudes, but nothing is showing..."

Flesh, metal and glass. The photographer hiding from view in this one, shielded by the camera which does the seeing for her. Legs - tripod, human - intertwined. Fingers curled around the camera, almost clawing, caught in the act of arresting the moment for those not present. And everything dependent on a mirror which sees but cannot be seen.

What to make of it? I want to buy it, but do I need to? I can still see it. And it wasn't offered for sale, only as evidence of a private, courageous moment. So true, for the photographer. For me, the viewer, a hopeful student of the art, something different altogether. In this photograph I read the Photographer's struggle to display, to hide, to check, to capture, to reveal, to pose, to reflect, to measure, to learn, to grow... And now, a few days later, what am I left with? Inspiration? A new benchmark? Alas, more questions. But I know for sure that this was an amazing photograph.

Mindfulness

In a moment, everything can change. Everyone says that. One can imagine it to be true, especially if you watch the news.

But when it happens to you, in a big way, it seems much more complicated than those six little words. The last 19 days of my life have been... a blur.

These last few days, I have the urge to just make a big list. A list of lists I guess it would be. Things that were hard. Things that were terrifying. Surprises, changes, realizations... The list of plural nouns swirls in my head. Maybe my urge to write it all down comes from a need to release it from my head to give me some space.

Sometimes I feel like my guts have been ripped out and replaced with... clarity and confusion at the same time.

Then the quesitons come, most prominently, "What is really important?", and then, "Is THAT thing, right in front of me, really important?" The answers to those two questions, as I have moved through these 19 days, have surprised me. Some things I have considered difficult in the past, and therefore I have dreaded and avoided, now seem critical. And now I have to do them because I see their value, and I'm already behind, and with swirling nouns and ripped out guts, too.

And some things are no longer important. At all. But I have to purge them, and they're mixed in with the things that I need to keep... and sometimes it's just easier to sit on the couch instead of managing them.

And I am thankful. Nineteen days ago, my husband of three months and three days was in a terrible car accident as a result of a freak snowstorm. I am thankful that he had good care in the first hour. I am thankful for my parents, who went out into the same snowstorm that had just almost killed my husband so I would have a safe ride to the hospital to be with him. I am thankful that, despite his seemingly horrific injuries, he will recover. I'm thankful that our children were not in the car. I am thankful for our oldest daughter, who has been a tremendous help through this whole situation. I'm thankful that he is taking the situation extremely well. Two other family members had frightening experiences that same week, and I am thankful that they are both doing ok. That list goes on and on.

And now I am ready for stillness again. I am ready for the chaos of the accident, the phone calls, the wounds, the worry, the planning and replanning, the questions, the speculation, the appointments, the administrivia, the rebuilding, all of it, to settle. Even just for a moment. I am ready to celebrate my family and what we have, without the reactionary stance I've assumed for the last 19 days. Today I feel so lucky. I just want to focus on that right now.

Today, 19 days after the accident, which will probably be known as "The Accident", I don't know for sure what has changed and what hasn't. I can't know what this has done to the future, but I'm curious to find out. In the movies, actors who don't wallow in self pity after things like this happen seem to come out with a new clarity. They become happier people because they know what's really important. Today, I'm just wondering what happened to my car radio. Before, it was my constant companion. Now it is, at best, an annoyance and at worst, in danger of being torn out of the dash and pitched out the window along with all its noise. I can't listen to it. I don't know why. But I know it's related to the accident somehow. Maybe it's too like the noise in my head, which I'm trying my best to calm. To quiet the noise, I should focus on the love of my family and keep the car radio off. At least that's my plan.

How much time does it take to change time?

It can start with a knock on the door. It's not who was expected. A new face. A question and a warning. And everything is falling. Falling falling falling. Spilling. Spilled. But then things change again. Things may not be as bad as they seem. Pieces are fit together again. Growing up happens. Healing happens. And important things are all that remain.