I’ve been reflecting upon how photography fits into my life, both creatively and practically.
As our family grows, our children are entering more physically capable phases of life. We’ve already gone on long hikes, climbed mountains, and tackled smaller adventures together; we’re approaching a season where extended trips and challenging excursions feel both possible and inevitable.
You probably already know that I love exploring the world with a camera in my hand. It’s a life-long hobby that I largely inherited from my Dad. My love for the craft has reached a point where I generally have far too many cameras to choose from…and I tend to bring more way than I need.
One example is our family trip to Colorado in 2023: I brought multiple film cameras, 30-ish rolls of film, and found myself enjoying the sights through a viewfinder.
It was great. Exhilarating, creatively challenging, and deeply satisfying. But it was also a lot to carry – I recall having to pass off my sling bag at one point because I needed to help one of our children down the mountain.
That trip revealed a question that I keep feeling the need to answer: What does my “essentialist” photography kit look like? Where should I cut back? How do I optimize without making a compromise that I’ll regret later?
Clearly, these are ongoing considerations that I’ll have to revisit many more times in my life. I want to use the tools I own intentionally and effectively, because I want to maximize my time, presence, and energy with my family. Over time, it’s become obvious that some pieces of gear get used consistently while others mostly collect dust in my office.
Whether I like it or not, trying to maintain too many pieces of equipment steals attention away from the fleeting moments that I’m trying to document in the first place.
All of this leads to the real question, not about cameras, but about experience: Why do I want to make pictures? What do I actually love to photograph? How do I want to engage with my family while doing it?
Photography is one of my core crafts, in addition to being my life-long hobby. But time with my family is a fleeting currency. I won’t always have these opportunities to share in their adventures.
Having a camera in my hand should enhance those moments, not compete with them, both while they’re happening and when we all look back on them later.
I will always be a dabbler; I live to tinker, explore, and push at the edges of different disciplines. But my photography should reenforce the balance between higher goals: art and science, craft and relationships, playfulness and excellence, documentation and exploration, presence and intention.
Finding balance in those areas is not a one-time decision. It is a practice. How I choose to approach that practice will shape how I remember these years…and how my family will remember me.