Take a Risk to Live Your Photographic Dream

As the year draws to a close, I'd like to share a personal story of my own journey. While everyone's story is different, I hope that you are able to find some lessons in both my wins and losses that will help you to push forward and make the coming year even better than the last.

There I was. Sitting nervously behind a cheaply constructed metal table, I inhaled deeply, terrified of the sound of the convention hall doors swinging open. Anxiously, I awaited the chorus of footsteps. Knowing that I would soon be called upon to play the part of traveling salesman. I knew I would be expected to have all the right words to say. The only problem? Up until that very moment, I had yet to find even the foggiest clue as to what those “right words” would be.

I knew it would be a risk. This whole adventure would go by that description. Only three days earlier, I had taken an even bigger gamble, tossing my cushy and comfortable day job of the past twelve years for the uncertain life of a freelance photographer. I had some idea of what to expect. I was neither new to photography nor to the idea of being an independent artist. Having spent the bulk of my twenties as a screenwriter and director, I was more than familiar with the idea of following my dreams and the joys and disappointments which would accompany such a pursuit.

Truth be told, the simple longevity of my stay at a day job I innately detested was really just a testament to the lingering scars of recovery strewn across my ambition by the financial and emotional burden which befell me following the loss of earlier dreams.

A lot had happened in those dozen years. Friendships had come and gone. Relationships waded onto my shores only to be washed away by unexpected tides. The very real possibility that this was simply it for me, a dead end job that allowed me the money to keep living but not nearly enough passion to delineate my existence from dying, passed through my mind on more than one occasion. Adding both weight to my shoulders and girth to my midsection, I succumbed to the depression. I allowed myself perpetual sadness with the grim justification that life had taught me that, as dark as the days had become, I knew things could still get worse.

Slowly, but surely, things turned around. A rebirth of my physical health coincided with the discovery of a new tool which would provide me with a reason to return to life. My new best friend, and lightweight Nikon D200 with a cheap but versatile kit zoom lens gave me both the motivation and the permission to step out into the world. It allowed me to again see people and possibilities. The images the camera and I created reawakened the artist in me so long buried by endless fruitless pitch meetings and polite rejections from heads of development. And while those early days behind the lens were notably devoid of financial ambition, the sudden and unexpected positive response I was getting from my new art form had allowed me to breathe again.

When I quickly found my images being solicited for publication by major magazines, my life began to turn. At that point, I was still wet behind the ears. The images I was producing up until then were nothing more than a glorified hobby. More of a release from the endless close calls at Hollywood success. I never really thought that this photography things would be a career. But, still, maybe it could be?

As the years passed, my skills developed as did my ambition. I cycled through a vast cornucopia of clients and visual styles. I tried on aesthetic approaches the way most people try on clothes at the department store and eventually found one that fit.

The deep soul-searching continued. But this time, instead of spending hours on end wondering where it had all gone wrong, my thoughts began being consumed by a far more positive refrain. What if it can all go right?

Having been blessed with the opportunity to work for some of the biggest names in the business, experiencing the joys of seeing my work exhibited in the same spaces which I’d previously only known as a fan, and winning an award or two along the way, I began to see a light at the end of the tunnel. I saw a world to which I wanted to belong. And there was mounting evidence that it was a world to which I was worthy of belonging.

That’s not meant to be boastful. It can take a lot for an artist to feel worthy of belonging. As artists, we exist in a world preset for insecurity. Our job is to constantly offer our heart and soul to the viewing public, knowing that even at our most successful we will still often times be met with doubt and derision. Even those who achieve the highest reaches of their own ambition can sometimes feel as though they are the emperor with no clothes. There always exists a certain level of fear that, one day, we will be found out. It was all a dream and one day, when faced with a supreme challenge, we will be found wanting.

So as strong as my passion for photography had become, and as many signals, the universe had sent to buoy my belief in my abilities, neither of those factors was much of a match for the other far greater force generated from within: fear.

Like a track star, trying to run free while being pulled back by the tug of an unbreakable band stretched around his waist, every invitation to take the leap forward to my destiny was derailed by fear’s sturdy declarations.

Yes, you have gotten some acceptance in the market, but what if that’s all there is? Yes, you have booked some big clients, but who’s to say that, if you make the leap to full time that those clients will still be there? Yes, there are others who have been successful. But they probably have better sales skills than me, better contacts than me, or are just better photographers than me to begin with. For every positive impulse, fear would quickly provide a counterpart.

But then one day I heard a question which even my fear could not negate. I heard a turn of phrase that allowed me to conquer my fear and finally take the risk I’d been avoiding for so many years, afraid of the pain of failure, afraid that I couldn’t survive another set of disappointments.  

So what was the question? Pretty simple actually. I watched those around me. I watched their pursuit of their goals. I watched their success. I watched their happiness. Then I turned to face myself in the mirror and asked, “Why not me?”

Why would the world provide the pathway to success, but leave me out of the equation? Why would the world reward and respect hard work, but remain immune to my own? If they can do it, why can’t I? It wasn’t meant as a declaration that my work was better or worse than any other artist. Instead, it was an acknowledgment that as human beings, we are all equally worthy of our own ambition. And to achieve your goals, you first have to believe that you are worthy of them.

It wouldn’t be easy for sure. But no one ever promised that life would be easy. There would be setbacks. And, yes, there would be a chance that I would fail. But those are the odds that everyone has to face. And some of those who face those odds overcome them. Why not me?

So I lept.

It wasn’t a blind jump. I’d already done the hard work to develop my craft (an ongoing process), build my portfolio (several times over), and hone in on a niche. I had already shot some major jobs for clients which gave me both the credentials and, most importantly, cash flow to be able to sustain my business and refrigerator, at least for a little while, as I marketed my services.  

Unlike the monotony of a nine to five that I didn’t care much about, now every day of my life would be an adventure. An up-at-dawn work-until-I-drop search for new business and new opportunities. Stepping behind the camera was no longer solely a fun form of escape. Now, every click of the shutter would have the potential to make or break a client’s ad budget and affect my ability to keep my dog Huxley well supplied with the Kibbles and Bits he’s come to expect. In short, it would be harder and riskier work than I’d ever faced in my life. And I would love absolutely every minute of it.

But none of it, not a second of it, would have happened had I not finally accepted the inevitability of risk. I had to accept that putting myself into positions of discomfort is sometimes the only way to grow.

Hence, I found myself sitting there in the convention hall. As my business focuses on fitness and activewear photography, somehow I had gotten the bright idea to sign myself up for a booth at the major fitness expo in the Los Angeles Convention Center. With a couple hundred thousand attendees over the course of three days, I figured it may be a good way to spread the word and potentially build some business. In hindsight, maybe not the best investment given my specific business model. But still, the convention was a way to both literally and metaphorically put myself out there. A way to force myself out of the safety of my office and into the uncertainty of the marketplace.

Had I ever hosted a booth at a convention before? No. Was I a painful introvert who would much rather hide in the corner rather than pitch myself to perfect strangers, nonetheless a massive hoard of strangers simultaneously? Yes. Did I even have a remote clue whether or not this would work? No.

But I was all in. So I did my best to design what turned out to be a decidedly humble booth, broke out the business cards, warmed up the muscles in my right hand for the coming onslaught of firm shakes, and slid into my most comfortable pair of shoes to stand for roughly 24 hours over the three days and meet the public.

The convention doors slid open and the adventure began. It came and went as did my initial nerves. Uneventful other than the occasional protein-shake-fueled rumble between would-be bodybuilders and spontaneous dance competitions between scantily clad brand ambassadors slinging everything from workout gear to neon-colored sports drinks.

Those three days would hardly be the last risk I would take in pursuit of my dream. I’d soon find shy little old me cold-calling and cold-emailing clients around the world. I’d be hopping planes to fly cross country for meetings from East to West. I’d pour money I didn’t really have into print promos I wasn’t sure would work, believing that one day my investments would pay off.

For the most part, they did. Then I found myself taking on all new risks. Booking jobs with dream clients then now risking my name and reputation each time I step on set. Risking pushing the bounds of my creativity because I know that “good” just isn’t good enough. The work needs to exceed expectations and that only comes with risks.

Does it all work? No. Does one ever reach the point of feeling fully safe, secure, and content? I certainly haven’t. But if you really want to reach out and grasp in your waking hours the dreams that you only see in your sleep, you have to be prepared to accept the risks and bet on your own ability. So, when you wake up tomorrow morning from that wonderful dream, walk to the mirror, have a good look and ask the question. “Why not me?”