You’re in your Seed Era

We’ve all been there. You get home, so excited to check out your photos, certain there are a few gems on the card, only to upload them and feel that sinking feeling.

They just look…flat.
Dull.
Lackluster.

Maybe even boring?

It’s disappointing, especially when you felt the beauty in the moment. But I want to gently remind you: this happens to every photographer, and it isn’t so much as you doing something wrong, but maybe a misreading of the situation or poor circumstances that are out of your control. A flat photo isn’t a failure, it’s simply a clue.

If I were to pick up the camera again for the very first time, I would place my focus not on perfection, not on gear, and not on the endless technical how-tos, but on time. I would carve out gentle, uninterrupted time in my days or weeks to simply be with my camera, to wander and notice, to follow the flicker of curiosity or excitement wherever it might lead. I would let myself make the awful shots, take too many, miss the moment, and keep moving forward anyway. I would grant myself full permission to make mistakes, to experiment freely, and to create without questioning whether it was “good enough” or “right.” I would approach photography like a conversation with myself, with the world, with light and shadow. I would allow myself to be drawn toward whatever I felt pulled to: stillness or motion, my mother’s flower garden, the full moon, people or petals, soft light or the starkness of noon. If I didn’t yet know what kind of photography called to me, I’d let myself try everything.

Let’s face it, most of us can’t just pick up and travel on a whim, chasing cinematic, Instagram-worthy shots. Maybe you work full time, and photography is a quiet luxury you get to indulge in the pockets of free time amid a hectic life and work schedule. Often, we’re caught in routines that keep us tethered, and the days blend into each other, filled with to-do lists, dishes in the sink, errands to run. Life can feel messy and uncurated. At least mine is!

But still, I believe there’s something beautiful to be found in the ordinary, in the messy middle, in our daily lives that are raw and authentic.

This journal entry is about honoring the beauty of the everyday: the quiet, familiar moments that we often overlook. The ones we pass by without a second glance. The ones that make up most of our lives. The scenes or subjects we may even take for granted every day, either in our home, on our commute, or in our neighborhood.

Photography has always been there, quietly in the background of my life. As a young girl, I would bundle up and trek out into the freezing winter night to photograph the stars. I didn’t know then what it meant, only that I absolutely loved it. Those small, solitary adventures out in nature began a lifelong love. Years later, I found myself on 7th Avenue in New York, immersed in mood boards and concept development, where photography still lingered quietly behind the scenes. Even when it wasn’t my main focus in my career at that time, it never left me. That love was always there, even if it was a bit dimmed or rusty.

About eight years ago, I decided to return to photography more intentionally. At first, it was just a hobby, something that brought me so much joy.

This might be a roundabout reflection, but stay with me, I have a feeling this might meet you somewhere along your own path, maybe even a place you’ve quietly carried for a while.

Lately, I’ve been sitting with a shift. One I didn’t expect and one I didn’t know I needed.

I’m a runner. I run every day, until recently, when injury forced me to stop, and that has been a complete emotional journey on its own, let alone a physical healing one.

If you know anything about running, you might be aware of these training structures: intervals, speed sessions on the track, long runs, and strength training sessions, each designed to complement your training. And for years, I believed the only sessions that counted were the ones that left me exhausted, wiped out, totally breathless. Only when it hurt, when it cost me, did I believe I’d earned something…that I earned the session or the run. I craved the effort, the challenge, and I trusted it. I even equated it with worth.