Every so often, life holds up a mirror. It’s rarely in the form of an actual reflection—it might be something far simpler, like watching a stranger in the grocery store. A small gesture, a curious ritual, and suddenly you recognize yourself in their actions.
Take watermelon season, for example. I’ve watched people cradle melons as though they were rare artifacts, tilting their heads, gauging weight, tapping like trained percussionists. Some sniff the ends. Others shake them as if listening for secrets trapped inside. And there I stand, not just observing, but realizing: I’ve done that too.
Being a photographer feels much the same. I watch people approach their art—choosing cameras, lenses, and vantage points as though they were choosing fruit at a market. Each decision is half instinct, half ritual. Who arrives at the perfect perch first? Who lingers behind? Who risks balance on slick rocks just to claim a shot no one else dared to try?
I saw this in Scotland, at the base of a waterfall. There he was—a man out on treacherous stone, chasing a frame as if it were worth his bones. Behind him, the rest of us stood in collective disbelief. Recklessness is its own kind of artistry, but I felt no envy for his image. Instead, I recognized a truth about myself: I’d rather be among those who create with reverence, who respect both the subject and the people beside them.
Photography, like friendship, thrives in that space. The best moments come not from staking claim, but from standing together—sharing techniques, laughing at failed attempts, marveling at beauty that feels too abundant to belong to just one person.
In the Badlands, I captured one of my favorite images: friends, cameras in hand, lost in the joy of creating. As I pressed my shutter, I saw myself reflected in them—different position, different angle, same quiet devotion.
That realization filled me with gratitude. Gratitude for the art that connects me to strangers and loved ones alike. Gratitude for the chance to see myself not only in my reflection, but in the ordinary rituals and extraordinary passions of others.
Because sometimes, you see yourself. And when you do, it’s a reminder: we are all photographers in one way or another—choosing, framing, and capturing the fleeting beauty of life as best we can.
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