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How Photography Inspired Me to Embrace Curiosity and Self-Reflection

  • amyclark0615
  • Jan 17
  • 3 min read

I still remember the day I decided to focus on photography. It was about ten years ago, and I was knee-deep in motherhood, running a household, marriage, and my job. I spent my days running from one responsibility to another, feeling trapped in my roles and losing all sense of my identity outside of them. I didn't know how to be what everyone seemed to need me to be, and also stay connected to myself. So, I left myself behind and got entirely immersed in my family and career. It wasn't my best decision, but it was what I felt I needed to do. I didn't know that it was possible to hold on to myself and my loved ones at the same time. Life up to that point had taught me that the cost of keeping relationships was abandoning myself. And so I lost touch with my own inner being, so that I could stay connected with the people I loved.


And then one day my husband suggested I pick up my camera and try taking some photos. He knew I had talked about it in college, but never did anything with it. I wanted something that was just for me, and photography seemed as good a thing as any other. So I dusted my camera off and took a few photos. They were not good, let me tell you. Far from it. But something about looking through that viewfinder changed me. As my camera shutter clicked, something clicked within me as well. And then I looked on my screen at the photo I had taken, and I was introduced to possibly the most important aspect of any creative act. Curiosity.


You see, that first photo was pretty bad. The first several were bad, actually. But every time I took a photo, I looked at it, and instead of getting stuck in judgment of the photo, I got curious. I asked myself what I didn't like about it, and what would make it better. I thought about what I needed to do differently, and I tried it again. I shifted position, I moved things around, I got closer or farther away, I changed settings. And over time, my photos got better, little by little.

trees in shadow and reflected in a lake in front

Every time I got curious about a photo, I was teaching myself to step out of judgment, and to lean into learning instead. I could have seen those photos and told myself I wasn't any good, that this was a waste of time, and then just given up. Especially since it took me months to take photos I was truly proud of. But I didn't, possibly because I was so tired of being seen only through my roles. Seeing the world differently through my camera lens somehow helped me to see myself, too, and I wasn't ready to walk away from that.


So I kept trying, and I kept getting curious instead of judgmental. And over time, my photos got better and better. I grew as a photographer, and I grew in my connection to myself. I took the questions I asked about my photos, and I began to ask them about my life and relationships as well. What do I think of this? Is it what I was aiming for? What might make it better? What could I do differently to get a different result?


The thing about being a photographer is that no one else can do what you can do. No one else can take that specific image. No one else can see what you see. I can't take someone else's photo. I can only focus on seeing what I see, my own creative vision, and doing my best to capture it. At the point in time when I first got into photography, I looked at everything through everyone else's eyes. I didn't prioritize my own perspective, ever. But with a camera in my hands, I could only see my own perspective. I had to stay in my own lane, and get curious about what I saw, and what I could control. Eventually this transferred to staying in my own lane in other areas, as well. I realized that on one else could see what I could see without a camera. No one else could see through my eyes, and it wasn't my job to see through anyone else's eyes. My job was to see what I saw, and stay curious. Ask questions, without throwing my own vision out the window. Trust my own perspective, my own eyes, and stay true to it.


It's a lesson I'm still learning, every time I pick up my camera.

 
 
 

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