Study Break Sunset

Self-explanatory.

I've picked up my camera again — this time, for me

I started taking intentionally crooked pictures of the sunset when I was 14. I took pictures of my Converse high-tops, and pictures of vegetation in my suburban yard. I took pictures of my sister, my dog, my CD collection. I took pictures of everything.

I upgraded to my first DSLR in high school. The Internet was my teacher and I learned about lenses and external flashes. I joined photography club where I learned about aperture, shutter speed, and ISO. Camera math and science were the only types of math and science I enjoyed. I dabbled into image manipulation and learned to create weird art from pictures I had taken. 

Paris, France. Spring 2011.

The first time I was shamed for taking a photo was on the school Europe trip. I had fallen behind our group in Paris as I was focused on getting a crisp shot of the detail of a historic apartment block. One of our chaperones turned around and yelled at me. I missed many shots on that trip as I was always hurried along at the back of the group.

I started to take my passion public. I set up a Facebook page offering my services to anyone who would want them. I did graduation, engagement, and family shoots. I was a second shooter at two weddings. This is when photography stopped being fun.

Venice Beach, California (taken with a disposable camera). Summer 2011. 

I found myself competing with strangers, as well as my friends who had also taken an interest in looking at the world through a viewfinder. They, too, began offering their talents and got more gigs than I did. With practice they became better than me, and I found my favourite hobby had become a chore that also made me feel like I wasn't good enough to do what I loved. 

In university, I joined another photography club. We got together and learned from each other's work, went on mini field trips, and built friendships. We learned how to process film in the school's darkroom. Taking pictures was fun again. 

Rushing River, Ontario (35mm film). Summer 2014.

As time went on and homework piled up, I stopped going to photo club. I put down my camera and it collected dust until I needed it for a trip, or until I reluctantly agreed to take a friend's portraits. 

MGMT at the Burton Cummings Theatre (35mm film). 2013. 

That's how photography has been for the last two years for me. I've hated it. I hate competing. I hate the pressure of producing perfect pictures for pay. I hate that the talented artists around me are likely judging my work. 

After a healthy break, I picked my up my camera again this week. I carried it around with me for a day, and took pictures of my surroundings and loved ones. I preserved candid memories with smiles that you'll never see in a posed shoot. I found beauty in a cat chewing on a shoe. I realized I could still find joy in turning some dials and pressing a button to freeze a moment and write it to a memory card. And that joy is why my camera will be my friend again. 

My future niece and sister-in-law. June 2015. 

I know it will be a slow transition, but I hope my camera will be by my side more often. I hope I'll remember to sling it over my shoulder before I walk out the door. I hope I don't get bogged down in the technicalities of the shots, but rather the moments I'm trying to hold on to. And I hope to never take a photo on someone else's terms ever again. 

My fiancé and I. June 2015.

The best day of your life

I  ran into a colleague I don't see often at Thom Bargen last week. The last time I saw him was at the staff Christmas party.

I asked him how we was doing. His reply?

"Today is the best day of my life."

I asked him why. He said, "because I said so."

Everyday he wakes up and tells himself it will be the best day of his life. 

This concept is so foreign to me. I wake up, think about all the things I have to do and the things I'd rather be doing instead. I think about the events or people I'll encounter that will drain me. I think about the stress.

What I don't think about is how I'll deal with all the things the world decides to throw at me. 

My friend has it right. No matter what happens, he plans on making the best of the situation. 

Everyday is a new best day. 

While I won't get it right immediately, I hope to teach myself to make sure the days ahead until my death bed are the best and better than best days of my life. 

How my cat changed my life

Nearly a year ago, I was at my worst.

I was dumped in what I think was my most dramatic break-up, I started going to counselling, and I tried suppressing my feelings so I didn't have to deal with them. The last of these, of course, making the situation worse.

I didn't feel good. I struggled to wake up everyday. I didn't feel motivated to take care of myself.

In the midst of this storm, I brought Eugene home.

Little did I know, this curious and troublesome little kitten was going to change me for the better.

I didn't want to leave home. Not because I was sad, but because I couldn't bear being without my new little buddy. I was exhausted chasing my shoe-sized toddler. I constantly tried to stop him from eating my house plants, getting stuck underneath the couch, and crawling into plastic bags. I watched in amazement as he leaped distances up to a metre while participating in kitty-parkour: home edition. Luckily, after all that running around he was as exhausted as I was. When I took a nap, he would nuzzle his way into my blankets. When I woke up and couldn't see him, I was scared I had crushed him. But I could feel the little vibrations of his purr pulsing throughout his body, so I knew he was still alive...somewhere in his little blanket fort.

Eugene gave me a reason to care again. He was the spark of joy I needed to learn to love life again. When I couldn't find a reason to get out of bed, he would paw at my eyes to make sure I still would.

To this day, Eugene is a troublemaker. He's still an active parkour-er, he likes to wake my roommate and I up in the middle of the night (again, pawing at our faces), and he climbs onto places where he can't get down by himself (like shelves, where he's stuck until one of us comes home).

I wouldn't trade the giggles, the head-butts, or the purring for any of the trouble he has caused. He's my buddy. I wouldn't be the same if I didn't come home to his goofy, sweet face every day.