It’s been about five years since I truly embraced photography, not just as a hobby, but as a career. It wasn’t a full 180 from fashion design, but close enough to make me question if it was the right choice. Still, photography had always lingered in the background, ever since my mother gave me my first camera when I was seven.. I was a quiet, sensitive child, and hiding behind the lens felt like a safe place to observe and participate in the world. I didn’t realize it at the time, but I was already learning to see with intention, feel deeply, and be fully present.

Many of you have asked how to tell if a photo works, and to be honest, it’s a tough question to answer definitively. That’s because every image exists within its own unique context: the light, the subject, the moment, the intent behind the frame. And perhaps most importantly, photography is deeply subjective. What makes a “good” photo can vary widely from one person to the next.

Sure, there are foundational principles, like the rule of thirds, balance, leading lines, and the power of odds, that can guide composition. And yes, technical sharpness and exposure can play a role. But even when an image checks all the “right” boxes, it might not land emotionally or visually for everyone. On the flip side, a blurry, rule-breaking frame might resonate deeply and linger in someone’s memory.

Lately, I’ve been soaking in the quiet joy of spring, the gentle warmth of morning light, the way the sun lingers softly into the evening, and the color slowly unfurling where only bare branches once stood. There’s something deeply hopeful in it, watching blossoms awaken, tender and fragrant, unapologetically alive.

But spring, in all its vibrancy, is also a quiet teacher.

Because what we’re witnessing now — the color, the blossoms, the return of life didn’t appear overnight. These blooms we marvel at have spent the long, quiet winter hidden beneath the surface, germinating in stillness, gathering energy in the dark. Growth was unfolding even when it looked like nothing was happening. That’s the part we often overlook, that true transformation begins in the unseen, quiet spaces where no one is watching.

This post feels a little different from what I usually share, but it comes from what I know to be true. It’s something that’s been with me for a long time—steady and constant—and I know it’s not just in thought, but in a way that feels deeply rooted in who I am. I’ve never been drawn to the technical side of photography. I’ve always followed a different rhythm—one shaped by curiosity, intuition, a sense of wonder, and deep appreciation for beauty. And while I find inspiration in breathtaking landscapes and exotic new travels, the place where I feel most creatively free isn’t always behind the camera.

One thought I’ve often wrestled with—and still do, if I’m being honest—is this: How do you know if you’re a good photographer?

There’s no universal scale, no precise measure. We might compare ourselves to others, but that only leads to a distorted, unfair reflection—one that serves no real purpose and leaves us feeling empty or not good enough. When has comparison ever truly helped us grow? It becomes even harder to gauge our own abilities when we lack a sounding board, when there’s no one to offer thoughtful critique. This is a hard one for me as I’m working at home most of the time and overthinking and self-criticism are right there on either shoulder!

“I’m so over these.”

Have you ever felt that way about your own work? That moment when you're reviewing your website, looking through your hard drives, or scrolling your social media, and suddenly—you just feel bored? You look at the photos you once adored, the ones you considered your best, and now they feel… well, kind of flat and lackluster. Maybe you’re struck by the thought that this is all you’ve got. That you’ve hit a wall. You’re just over your work or style.

I think every photographer, at some point, will face that creeping feeling: "I don’t belong here," "I’m not good enough," or "Who am I to charge what I charge?" Imposter syndrome is real—and, for most of us, it's almost inevitable. It can be a heavy, paralyzing weight that spirals us into self-doubt and low self-esteem. If you don’t have an unshakable sense of entitlement or boundless confidence, imposter syndrome will likely make an appearance.

Happy December! It’s hard to believe how quickly November flew by, and now we’re nearing the end of the year! I spent Thanksgiving in Oregon, and while editing some of my photos, I reflected on how easily a good photo can be turned into a bad one through editing choices.

Editing is, of course, subjective, but certain missteps can detract from a photo’s potential. I’ve certainly made my fair share of these mistakes in my early days, back when I was experimenting and trying to define my style.

At some point as photographers, we will second guess ourselves. We will doubt our abilities, our progress, and our general approach. “Am I even improving?” That is a constant thought I have had fluctuated in and out of my mind over the years. While I think it's best to avoid comparing ourselves to others and their progress at all costs, sometimes we can’t help it. We’re human, And comparison just comes with the territory and is even amplified by social media and likes on Instagram. There were some points along my journey that I lacked an overall feeling of growth or that my photos were improving.

As someone who's entirely self-taught, my photography journey has been anything but linear. It’s been all over the place—disjointed and patched together. Yet, photography has always been there, quietly in the background, evolving with me. Looking back, I often think about what I’d do differently if I had to start again. This is the roadmap I'd take if I had to learn all over again: