Lessons Learned from 30 Days of Blogging

Last month, I decided to blog every day. As I explained earlier:

For whatever reason, I’ve found writing hard to do the past few years, and this year has been the hardest. I’ve also been disinclined to think out loud, even though I’ve had a lot I’ve wanted to say and share, both personally and professionally.

Mid-way through the experiment, I reported:

What it’s been doing is helping unlock whatever has been inside of me. I’ve been precious about sharing what I’ve been thinking, not wanting to say them unless I can say them well and feeling paralyzed as a result. I’ve also found it overwhelming at times to try to blog. I guess things are crazy in the world right now, and it’s not only affecting my mental health, it’s hard for me to make sense of it all.

Blogging as a practice has reminded me not to be too precious. The less I try to say, the less overwhelming I feel. The more frequently I share, the less I have to worry about saying it all in one piece, which makes it much easier to write. Plus, even though I don’t think I’ve shown it yet, I’m starting to remember what it feels like to write well. I’m rounding into shape again, which always feels good.

The biggest surprise has been that sharing regularly has helped me re-engage with my broader community. I didn’t think anyone really followed this blog anymore, and because I’m rarely on social media anymore, the algorithms seem to have decided I’m not worthy of most people’s feeds. Still, some people are paying attention to what I’m saying, and getting to hear from them has been a treat and is also motivating me to write more.

After having finished the experiment, I’m not sure I have anything different to report, other than to say that I don’t think I had any breakthroughs after 30 days, and I want to keep exercising this muscle. I thought seriously about extending my project through the end of the year, but I opted against it for a few reasons. Even though it wasn’t particularly stressful, it wasn’t stress-free either, and I don’t need the added pressure this month. It also tires out muscles that I’m using for work right now. I can focus on developing these muscles more when work settles down.

In the meantime, I think the exercise still is helping me share more than I was before. This is my third blog post in December. I think a good pace for me is to be blogging about once a week, especially when those posts are more or less organic.

Maybe the most interesting thing for me was seeing what I chose to blog about. This wasn’t just a writing exercise, it was a sharing exercise. I aggregated all of the tags from those 30 days of blog posts and ran them through WordClouds.com to see if I could detect any patterns.

Not surprisingly, I wrote a lot about COVID-19 and the elections. It was nice to see that I wrote quite a bit about collaboration. This wasn’t my goal, but I admit I was curious to see how often I felt compelled to write about “work stuff” — the original purpose of this blog — especially when I had so many other things on my mind. I loved that I wrote about a lot about making — food and art and photography and stories in general.

Finally, I was curious about the people and places I wrote about. Here were people I knew whom I mentioned in various posts (not including my partner and sister, whom I mentioned often and didn’t bother tagging):

I loved seeing this list. My interactions with others play such a huge role in what I think about and how I feel, and I love being able to share this space with the people in my life.

People I mentioned whom I don’t know:

Places I mentioned:

  • Africa
    • Nigeria
  • Alaska
  • California
    • Bay Area
      • Colma
      • Oakland
        • Joaquin Miller Park
        • Mountain View Cemetery
      • San Francisco
        • Fort Point
        • Golden Gate Bridge
    • Los Angeles
      • Forest Lawn
  • Cincinnati
  • Santa Fe
    • Ghost Ranch

Walking in the Fog

Last night, my partner and I went for an early evening walk at Land’s End to try and spot some owls. As we arrived at the trail head, the fog quickly started rolling in.

Walking in the fog at night can be cold and creepy, but last night, it created a sense of intimacy. It was quiet and still, and there was just enough light to cast a cool, dispersed glow over the Bay.

As we walked, we saw a helicopter flying close to the Golden Gate Bridge. Seeing choppers in this area isn’t unusual, but this one was sweeping back and forth over the Bay, with a spotlight shining brightly over the water. It felt like we were alone in a very large room, just the two of us and the helicopter, searching for something in the water.

A Shift in Perspective

San Francisco National Cemetery in the Presidio

Yesterday, I had the pleasure of finally meeting Ed Batista, someone whose work I’ve been following and whose writing I’ve been admiring for many, many years. Ed suggested we walk through the Presidio, a lush, expansive park and former Army base overlooking the ocean and the Bay on the northwest side of San Francisco.

I live close to the Presidio, and I’ve walked through it many times, but I haven’t really explored it. I have a few set walks that I do there, and I’ve mostly left it at that.

Ed took me on a different, wandering route that took us all around the park. At various points, I found myself in familiar places, only at slightly different vantage points, often a bit higher and further back. I found it remarkable how a small shift in perspective completely changed my experience of a place that I know pretty well.

I’ve been sitting with this experience since that beautiful walk, wondering how I might shift my habits in small ways and what I might discover as a result.

White House Year in Photography

Pete Souza, the official White House photographer (who also served a similar role under Reagan) posted his Year in Photos on the White House website this week. I loved poring over these! As you might expect, Souza’s photos tell a powerful, insider’s story of President Obama’s 2014. They also serve as a primer on masterful photojournalism.

The photo above offered a brief look at Obama’s propensity to be present. Souza’s caption:

Surrounded by Secret Service agents, the President views the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco. Rather than immediately board the Marine One helicopter at Crissy Field, the President instead walked right past the helicopter to see a better view of the bridge on a clear summer day.

Here are some other nice examples of this.

Masterful photography and storytelling is nothing new. What I especially love is how the White House uses the Internet and social media to share these pictures. All of the pictures above (and many more) are shared more or less in real-time on Flickr. If you click through on any of the photos, you’ll notice that all of the camera metadata is there. (Souza uses a Canon 5D Mark III, often with a 24-70mm f/2.8 zoom.) Lots of professional photographers hide their metadata, a ridiculous, misguided attempt to maintain some kind of competitive edge.

You’ll also notice the licensing: U.S. Government Works. By law, federal work is not protected by copyright. However, that does not mean the work is in the public domain, as federal work is protected by other government statutes. For example, you cannot use government work to imply endorsement by a government official. No such luck with public domain or even Creative Commons.

I had never seen the U.S. Government Works statement before. It has very nice language around publicity versus privacy rights, an issue that has flummoxed me.

Souza also maintains an excellent Instagram account, where he shares iPhone photos and insider stories, including his thought process behind how he curated his 2014 photo essay. He also recently gave an excellent interview about his process.

This is what working openly looks like. This is what getting it looks like.

Happy New Year, everyone!

The Power of Constraints and Practice

I love the Golden Gate Bridge. I’m lucky enough to be able to see it from where I live. I never get sick of gazing at it, visiting it, or taking pictures of it. For me, it never gets old.

Still, I know that the hundreds of stock photos I’ve taken of this iconic bridge aren’t very interesting. While I somehow can’t resist taking these shots anyhow, my goal is to grow as a photographer and as a storyteller, to capture unique, emotional moments. I want to take pictures that are meaningful to me, but that are layered, not just literal. I also want to take these pictures largely spontaneously, although I’m not opposed to a little bit of direction here and there.

I’ve been taking lots of pictures with my zoom lens these past few months. It’s a great lens — fast and sharp — and I’ve wanted the flexibility for the situations I knew I’d be in. But I also realize I haven’t had as much fun taking pictures the past few months as I usually do. There are lots of reasons for this, but I felt like the zoom lens was playing a role.

So this past week, I started carrying only one lens with my camera — my 50mm equivalent, which is my favorite by far. It’s a tighter lens, which can make it challenging for landscapes and tight spaces, where you have limited room to maneuver. You have to let go of what it can’t do, or you’ll just get frustrated. When I manage to do this, I find it liberating. I’m forced to eliminate options, to choose and focus. It opens up all sorts of creative possibilities through the power of constraint. I don’t know the exact role carrying only one lens played this past week, but somehow, photography started feeling fun again.

Yesterday afternoon, I went for an afternoon walk on the bridge with my Mom and younger sister. I noticed them holding hands as they walked, and I asked them to pause when we got to the bridge so that I could snap the photo above.

I didn’t want to mess too much with the moment. I wanted to take the picture quickly, and move on. But I couldn’t help making two changes to the scene. First, I noticed that my sister was wearing a bracelet that our 10-year old nephew had made her recently. It was on the wrist that she was using to hold my Mom’s hand, so I pulled up her sleeve so that it was fully visible, giving the photo yet another layer of meaning.

Second, their hands were partially enshrouded in shadow. I couldn’t eliminate it by repositioning myself, so I moved their arms slightly. This is something I never would have done two years ago, not because I was shy about directing people, but because I wouldn’t have even noticed the shadow.

Much of my growth as a photographer over the past two years has simply been a result of paying more attention to light. In the past, I was so focused on the subject, I’d often ignore light and other compositional elements, such as the background. However, simply knowing that I should pay more attention to light wasn’t what ultimately helped me do so.

My growth has been a result both of intentionality and of practice. Taking pictures like these…

… has helped me develop a sensitivity toward light, so that it’s become more instinctual rather than something I have to consciously pay attention to. This, in turn, helps me recognize situations like the one above with my Mom and sister, resulting in better pictures.

I don’t know if the payoff is noticeable to others who look at my photos. But I notice it in the photos I’m seeing and taking. Here’s one I took of my nephews and brother-in-law after church in Cincinnati:

I saw my older nephew, Elliott, offering food to his little brother, Benjamin, and thought it was a cute moment, so moved to capture it. At the same time, I noticed how beautiful the light looked along the wall, so I positioned myself to try to get that too. A split second later, I noticed my brother-in-law in the distance, and included him in the photo.

It’s not a perfect photo. I was shooting in aperture priority mode, and I forgot that I was at f/8 ISO200, so the shutter speed was slow, and it came out a bit fuzzy. By choosing to compose the photo this way, I also missed out on capturing Benjamin’s face and the details of the boys interacting. It’s all good. I like the photo, and I see the progress I’m making as a photographer in it.

I’m also loving what I’m learning about perceived imperfections and how they sometimes result in stronger pictures. I took this photo of my friend, Oz, and his dog in front of the Painted Ladies while on a walk a few months ago:

I was paying attention to light — it was the middle of the day, but the clouds had come in, dispersing the bright light beautifully — but I missed the shadow on Oz’s face as a result of his hat. I still miss details like this, despite the progress I’ve been making, and when I catch it, I’m always annoyed. I could have asked him to take off his cap, and the picture would have been technically stronger as a result.

But upon further reflection, I’m glad that I didn’t. I like that he was wearing a Pixar hat, and I like that both he and his dog are wearing hats of sorts.

I’ve barely started to understand photography, but I am loving the journey. I love having an archive of memorable moments, especially with people I care about, and I absolutely love the learning process.