The Road Unknown

If you had asked me back when I was little my favorite thing to do, my top choice would have been babysitting or taking pictures.  I’m pretty sure both passions sprung out of youngest child syndrome. Seeing old photos and home videos of my siblings when they were younger, I was actually jealous that I wasn’t there, clearly at 5 years old the notion of conception and existence before my time was lost on me. I wanted to have just as many memories to look back on, so I started taking pictures of EVERYTHING (we’re talking weekly trips to Eckerd–remember those?– to drop off rolls of film or disposables). I wanted to capture it all. As for the babysitting, well after years and years of putting “baby brother or sister” at the top of my Christmas list, my mom finally had to sit me down and explain what a hysterectomy was and how as much as Santa wanted to get me everything from my list, God had different plans. So if I couldn’t have a baby sibling of my own, why not get paid to take care of someone else’s?  I started at 10 and began to realize that my love of infants and kids was also a bit of an instinct. From there came a volley of career paths, morphing from stay-at-home mommy to teacher to midwife–that one passed quickly, my aversion to needles and blood has not lessened a bit since I was 5 and accidentally kicked the nurse while flailing away from some vaccine– and finally Juvenile attorney.

For the past ten years that’s career path I’ve been on. I blame Judging Amy, which I was in love with at 12. It seemed exhilarating, meaningful, rewarding, and ball-busting, which are all adjectives I need in my life on a daily basis. (Yes, even back then ball-busting was necessary. If you’re wondering why then you don’t have two older brothers.) So I went at it head-first full-throttle. I was pre-law through college, joined the right clubs, did mock trial, took the LSAT (one month before our wedding–not recommended), I was even filling out the applications. But after the worst pre-wedding stress meltdown, I had to admit that, although I was excelling my heart was no longer in it. It wasn’t fulfilling my creative artistic drives. I had a better idea of what being a lawyer really looked like and I knew it never would. It was a very scary thing to admit to myself and an even scarier thing to admit to my family (an idiosyncrasy my husband is always reminding me to work on whenever it comes up, and he’s right; it’s my life and my decision, and I shouldn’t be afraid of their reactions especially when I know they’ll support me as long as I’m happy). But when it was said and done, I actually felt all of this stress and worry disappear, and I was happier than I had been in a long time. (Granted, I’m sure the wedding and honeymoon had a lot to do with that happiness as well.) So with the help of my Godsend of a husband, I’ve decided to pursue the dream I’ve had since I was a little girl surrounded by Anne Geddes prints, books, and calendars.

This is the year I become a photographer.

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