I wanted to wait to post until December 25th. My plan had been to take one month to think, 30 days of rest from posting a blog entry so that whatever I communicated would be from the heart and insightful. Instead, I woke up this morning hopeful and needed to get this down in writing.
Christmas, or the holidays for that matter, is not a happy time for me. Since two years ago, when I raced on a plane to watch my baby sister dying amongst tubes and monitors, I have been in a constant search to make “this year better.” Last year, when I watched my home and everything I treasured fall apart, I stopped searching. I gave a good fight. I fought long and hard and this year I finally gave up. I let it all go.
Not every photographer or artist can be mainstream. Not everyone can be comfortable with branding and logos and websites and the endless chase of clients. I was so desperately trying to fit myself through a hole into a space where I didn’t belong. I was just small enough to squeeze through but completely in the dark once I got there.
I commented last night that I felt nothing with giving up my professional portrait photography business. Really, nothing. Last year I was watching it slowly slip from my hands and was distraught, depressed, and fighting harder. I think this year I knew it was time. I am hopeful, grateful, and feeling more inspired than I ever have before. The business is gone. The sleepless nights of endless culling and processing are gone. The panic at the end of every month that perhaps I wouldn’t get another booking to pay the rent is gone. The responsibility of reporting sales tax and forgetting; subsequently getting fined twice in one year is gone. The fear is gone. The ache in my heart is gone.
The inspiration is still here. I find it every time I see a gorgeous Texas sunset. I find it every time I know that next week I get to take a day off my day job to go hunting for beauty to photograph. I find it in the discovery that I can still draw and paint masterpieces. I find it in the beads and wire strung on my living room rug. I find it in color and taste and touch and smell. I find it in every nook and cranny of everyday life. There is something incredibly wonderful about everyday life.
