I’m trying to work on something that has plagued me for a long time. Faith in creative self.
You know that moment when someone asks you what you do and you cringe before you tell them? That.
99% of the cringe isn’t shame, it’s fear of someone else’s judgment.
What if you tell them you are a photographer and they don’t like your pictures? Does that mean you aren’t one?
What if you tell them you are a writer and they don’t understand your words? Are you not a writer now?
What if you are an artist but they aren’t moved when they see your creation? Is it not art?
It boils down to definition. What if my definition doesn’t match someone else? Does that make it invalid?
One thing that has changed so much in the past year is I no longer take clients for photography. I no longer pour hours into ghost writing for companies.
If I happen to take a picture it’s because I am just having fun. If I write it’s because it was in my heart.
So when I meet someone new and they ask me what I do, I am reduced to shrugging and saying “Well, the laundry sometimes.”
Because I am guilty of comparing creativity.
If your name isn’t Stephen King, then you are probably not a writer.
If your name isn’t Ansel Adams, then why do you own a camera?
I try hard to remember that not everybody likes Stephen King, although he’s hit the best seller list multiple times.
I remind myself that not everybody like black and white nature shots, although Ansel Adams is widely known.
I question myself all the time…
“Do I like doing what I am doing? – Yes!”
Does anything else really matter past that? It shouldn’t but sometimes it does.
There is a writer that I really enjoy. Jeff Goins. He claims you are a writer if you say you are. Sounds easy enough, but it goes against the natural tendency I have of being critical of myself. Of worrying about matching definitions.
So in the spirit of Goins…
I am a writer, sometimes.
I am a photographer, sometimes.
I do laundry, sometimes.
Categories: diary entry July