Through My Lens: Part 3 - Forever Wild

Photography has always been my anchor. No matter where life takes me, it’s the one passion I return to, the one thing that truly satisfies me. It’s my escape into a world of my own creation, and what I love most is how it draws me into nature—where I feel happiest.

For years, I went without a camera in my hands again. During my kids’ Little League baseball games, I’d occasionally help other parents capture more creative shots by tweaking their camera settings. I tried not to overstep—they were there to watch their kids play, not to get a photography lesson—but I couldn’t help myself. I wanted to share what I knew. Then I met Dan, a fellow assistant coach who’d recently moved from Southern California. He showed up to nearly every game with his camera gear, and we bonded quickly over our shared love for photography. Those conversations reignited something in me.

Slowly, the spark returned. I’d joke about getting back into photography but didn’t fully commit. Then a camera would appear on my desk for a few days. A week later, I’d pull out some lenses, a tripod, maybe a microphone. Hard drives started piling up, and the urge grew stronger.

The turning point came when I decided to set up a podcast studio in my office to record shows with my kids. I don’t know why, but that idea flipped a switch. I dove into researching cameras, lights, microphones, and studio gear. It felt like a fun way to document conversations with my kids while they’re still young, and I also wanted to start filming them again to capture their lives as they grow. One thing led to another, and I was all in.

I traded my old gear for modern cameras that excel at both photo and video. I set up the studio and recorded podcasts with my kids—moments I’ll treasure forever, especially that first episode, which ranks among my top ten memories with them.

From there, photography and videography took off again. I started shooting mostly at kids’ sports, which isn’t my forte, but I’ve had a blast learning. Sharing high-resolution images with other parents is rewarding—they’re always so grateful. I also carry a small Fuji camera with me these days, paired with a handful of prime lenses. Each week, I pick one focal length to shoot with, forcing myself to get creative. It’s a fun challenge.

Nature remains my true fuel. I’ve grown to love photographing wildlife—birds, deer, elk, anything that roams free. I also enjoy capturing my dog, especially when she’s retrieving a bird. That combination of animals, nature, and photography is where my passions converge. This time, I’m not turning back.

But it’s different now. I’m not chasing a career or setting expectations. I’m here to have fun, to write, and to share my experiences. This website will become a journal of my favorite memories, a collection of fragile moments preserved in time. Life moves fast; a camera slows it down. Whether I’m sharing with just myself or my family, that’s enough for me.

Photography, alongside writing, is my art of choice. It’s an escape from the chaos of everyday life. Funny enough, as I write this, it’s 10:12 PM again—a time that’s become a curious coincidence in my writing journey, as I noted in an earlier piece about rediscovering my creative spark. I just snapped a photo of my iPad for proof. This process—writing, reflecting—helps me unwind and unpack my thoughts. Honestly, I wasn’t thrilled about writing tonight, but I set a goal to get it done. Once I started typing, the words flowed, and now I feel truly relaxed.

So, that’s how I got here. Where I’m going? I’m not sure, and that’s okay. One idea is to revisit old photographs, to dive into the stories and mindsets behind them. For now, I’ll keep sharing and see where the road leads. I’m just grateful to have photography and writing back in my life. Until next time!

Through My Lens: Part 2 - Rekindled Spark

About ten years after I packed away my cameras, life had taken its usual course. Like most people, I dove into a job that became a career, started a family, and piled on a ton of responsibilities.

Shortly after my wife and I got married, she decided to pick up a new hobby: photography. I was thrilled—it reminded me of how much fun I used to have taking photos. Truth be told, I’d forgotten most of the technical stuff, like exposure settings, and the world had gone digital, which was totally new to me.

We found a Canon T3i with a kit lens online and bought it for her. Then we stumbled across a beginner’s photography class on Groupon—remember Groupon? Look it up if you don’t. We signed up to spend a Saturday learning the basics together. Within 30 minutes of that class, it all came rushing back. The spark was reignited, and I was hooked. I subscribed to the instructors’ newsletter for tips and tricks, and they mentioned an upcoming field trip to San Francisco to teach photography hands-on. It sounded incredible.

The trip was the following weekend, and we decided to go. That week, I practically stole my wife’s camera, practicing and rediscovering my skills. The San Francisco trip sealed the deal—I was all in. I started helping other participants who were struggling, and the instructors noticed my enthusiasm and knowledge. They invited me to join another trip to Alcatraz the next weekend, and I jumped at the chance.

That kicked off an amazing chapter of my life. Over the next three years, I probably took over 50,000 photos, maybe more. I traveled across the country and the world with this group, teaching photography. My wife joined some trips, which made them even more special. She took a few photos herself but eventually realized photography wasn’t her thing. Still, I swear she has a better eye than I do. We visited incredible places, and many of the photos on this site come from those years. My last big trip was to Ireland with the team and my wife, who was pregnant with our first child. It was breathtaking. We had trips planned to Iceland—a bucket-list destination—and Italy, but those fell through as her due date approached.

If you have kids, you know life changes the moment they’re born. They become your world. I kept traveling a bit, but not nearly as much. Another photographer and I started our own workshops, and I loved our approach. He was the artistic one; I was the technical nerd. Our multi-day workshops covered everything: teaching the basics, applying them in the field, editing in Lightroom and Photoshop, group critiques, and helping each student print and frame a favorite image. Those trips were the absolute best. I miss them dearly.

Just as we were hitting our stride, my second child was born. The travel started to wear on me—I didn’t want to be away from my kids for more than a couple of days a month. We shifted to local classes and online courses, but it wasn’t the same. It was still fun, but being away from my family felt harder. They’re my top priority. My day job paid well, and the photography gig was a passion project. I never took a dime from it; we reinvested everything to keep the business growing. Those were good times.

Then COVID hit, and the world shut down. Travel stopped. We canceled trips and refunded money, with no sign of things reopening. Eventually, we lost momentum and decided to call it quits. It was a tough choice, but it made sense. I still miss that moment when something “clicks” for a student—especially when they grasp the exposure triangle from both a technical and artistic perspective. That’s when the camera becomes a tool, an extension of your vision. When you know every button and setting by heart, it’s like magic.

So, I shifted my focus to my family, where it remains. I work hard during the day, but when the family’s home, it’s their time. My creative outlets happen early in the morning or late at night—like now, as I type this at 10:12 PM. As my kids grew, I took videos and tons of photos, mostly with my phone. I made monthly movies for them, which kept me connected to photography, but I rarely used a “real” camera. Once again, my cameras went back into their bags and onto the shelf for a few years.

This feels like a good stopping point. Again, writing this has been very therapeutic. If you’re reading, thank you—I truly appreciate your time. Have you ever chased a passion, only to have life derail it, then found a spark to rekindle it? Share in the comments. I think there’s one more part to this story, bringing us to where I am today. Stay tuned.

Through My Lens: Part 1 - Chasing Light

You might be wondering how I ended up here. Or maybe you just stumbled across this page—who knows? Either way, this feels like the right place to start. Or, more accurately, to start again. For like the third time. Alright, enough rambling—here we go.

Art has always been part of my life. My grandmother and aunt were artists, and some of my earliest memories are of drawing and painting. As a kid, probably six or seven, I was obsessed with sketching jets and “killer penguins”—penguins with massive, toothy grins. Somewhere in my mom’s house, there are probably thousands of those drawings. (P.S. I still love jets.)

As I grew older, my art evolved. I started drawing people, animals, cityscapes, and architecture. Creating was my outlet. In high school, like most teens, I experimented with life and made some questionable choices, but I learned a lot. Along the way, I got into graffiti and caricatures, which sparked a new wave of creativity. At my school, you could choose between a foreign language or art classes. I always picked art. The first two years covered the basics—drawing, painting, shapes, light, and color.

In my junior and senior years, my school offered film photography and I was in. This was when digital photography was just emerging, but our class focused strictly on black-and-white film. I didn’t own a camera, but I was eager to start, especially to photograph my friends skateboarding. My grandma gave me her old Canon AE-1, and I was hooked. (I still have it and want to give film another shot someday.)

Photography became my passion. We learned the essentials—exposure triangle, framing, composition—and I loved every second. The entire process was hands-on. We bought film in class (about 10 cents a frame), chose our ISO, and loaded the rolls in light-sealed bags to avoid exposure. From shooting to developing, every step was thrilling.

Developing photos was my favorite part. It felt like a delicate craft. Each roll was a single ISO, so you had to commit until it was done. We’d carefully extract the film in those lightproof bags, load it into a developing tank, and process it into film strips. You’d know right away if you nailed the exposure—those crisp negatives were so satisfying. I miss that feeling.

Printing in the darkroom was its own science. We’d expose photo paper through the negative, tweaking light intensity and timing based on the paper and negative quality. Test strips helped us dial in the perfect exposure, and we’d dodge and burn to adjust light and dark areas. (If you’re curious about dodging and burning, let me know, and I’ll explain!) Cropping happened here too. It was a long, meticulous process, but seeing the final photo made it all worthwhile.

Each week, we’d get an assignment and present a mounted photo. I poured my heart into it. At the end of my senior year, a couple of my photos were entered into the district photography show. To my shock, I won “‘Best of Show.” I thought it was some minor award, but it meant my photo was the best in the entire show. I was floored—and thrilled. The prize included a small cash award and a basic point-and-shoot digital camera, which I never really used. Instead, I invested the money in a Canon EOS Elan, a more modern film camera with autofocus. I upgraded my lenses and started photographing my friends skateboarding, using flashes to light the scenes. I pored over skateboarding magazines, admiring photographers like Atiba Jefferson, Grant Brittain, and Jai Tanju as much as the skaters’ tricks.

As I got older and stopped skateboarding, photography faded. The digital age made film expensive, and developing costs were too much for my budget. My gear went into bags and stayed there for years. Writing this has been surprisingly therapeutic, and maybe that’s part of why I’m here. For now, I’ll leave it at that. Thanks for reading—until next time.