THE KID IN ME
Yesterday was tough. As much as I adore Miami, it's a constant struggle not to compare myself to others. How we look, what we drive, what we wear, and how much money we make – it's all a whirlwind of pressure. I'm ambitious, pouring over marketing and creative books like there's no tomorrow. Being a photographer and staying afloat in this city isn't a walk in the park. You need street smarts to survive here, not just in business, but also in nurturing your passion.
It's essential to remember why I do what I do and why it matters. Balancing the creative side of things with the never-ending pile of bills isn't easy. Work sometimes pours in last minute, and that's awesome for the bank account, but it's also a game of unpredictability. Things can get canceled or rescheduled, so being organized is a must. I dread Thursdays – they're spreadsheet days. I loathe them.
But there's this excitement bubbling up because the busy season is around the corner, and it's shaping up to be fantastic. Yet, just as this excitement rises, so do the bills. Ticket prices to and from Argentina went up too, and suddenly, I feel like a hamster running in circles on a wheel, chasing after something elusive. I close those spreadsheets, and the tasks for the day come into focus – editing 4 reels for small businesses and a birth shoot. It's good work, and I'm excited about it. I've already sorted the images for the birth shoot, so I dive right in.
In my headphones, Max Richter's "On the Nature of Daylight" blares. It's an emotional moment. Maybe it's the music, maybe it's the images, but it hits me – life is unbelievably strange and amazing. As I adjust the black and white images of a new life entering this world, a bit of the burden of bills seems to lift. There's something inexplicably positive about births. I don't quite get why, but they bring hope.
Life throws experiences our way. Some leave us with lessons, maybe a few scars, but here we stand. Pushing forward and giving our best is all we can do. I don't know this child being born, but I'd introduce them to life the way I see my spreadsheet – full of possibilities. Even though I don't know them yet, I'd assure them that life is good, and amazing things are possible.
The kid would probably give me a bewildered look – they've just come screaming into the world and are already dealing with so much. But the lesson is for me. Why do I put so much pressure and disappointment on myself when I'd never treat anyone else that way? From now on, when I look in the mirror, even if I don't always like what I see, I'll try to be as compassionate as I would be with a child.
I recently read a book that talked about a psychologist helping someone by having them look at a picture of themselves as a kid and say the things they used to say to themselves. At first, I thought it was a bit cheesy, but it turns out the same important lessons came from a much more vivid experience.
Perhaps, decades from now, these young babies will stumble upon these snapshots, granting themselves a moment's respite. A gentle nudge to recall that, when it's all said and done, our simple aspiration remains: the pursuit of happiness.