Claye. Senior Class, 2018

On the outside, I know, that being a photographer appears to be nothing more than holding a camera up to your face and clicking a button. Sure, there is light and composition and rules and breaking rules and ISO and aperture, but for the most part, it seems little more than clicking a tiny button.

On the outside.

For a time, clicking the button seemed the most important thing. While learning about the big black machine I held in my hands and understanding all the pieces in parts, it was a puzzle that I was always figuring out. Trying pieces, flipping them over, trying again, getting frustrated and flipping one more time until–SUCCESS–the piece fit. A look at the back of my screen revealed all that I had already learned and all that I still had to learn.

Over time, though, the machine I held became more of an extension of my hand, familiar, a part of me. Like dough kneaded in a bakers hand or a paint brush in the hand of an artist, the camera became home. There was less fumbling and less messing up (though let’s be honest–there will always be that) and more seeing what, more importantly, who, was in front of me.

Each time someone stands in front of my camera, I am acutely aware of all the years that brought them to this moment. It’s different for every person–yet I know that the years are there. The years of experience–the heartache, the laughter, relationships built, relationships lost, hopes formed and trials overcome–years that have made them who they are. In my time with people, I also see the years ahead– the dreams that remain untouched, the hopes that have yet been realized, stories still untold–the unknowns that could fill a book. For me, holding the camera, is catching a teeny, tiny glimpse into a world that is different than my own. It’s pulling back the curtain and peering into the life another and noticing that there is so much goodness in the world.

This week, I had Claye in front of my camera for a second time. We first met in the fall to get a few pictures and met up once again, post-braces, to grab a few more. Maybe I shouldn’t admit this, but I will–seniors scare me. (Did I just type that?) As a Mom to younger kids, senior year is something that I can’t (don’t want to?) wrap my head around. It seems like forever away and way too close at the same time. However, meeting up with Claye, seeing his spunk, his ease and his readiness for this next phase of life made me see how all of this works in perfect timing. Listening to Claye talk about his future, his excitement for what is to come and the joy he has at finally being here (not to mention his obvious love for his family) made everything feel just right.

Claye, thank you for giving me a tiny glimpse into your world. I wish you all the best as you continue into this new season of your life. I have no doubt that you will navigate this next phase with the same hard work, commitment, and joy that you’ve carried with you your whole life.