I’ve always been terrible at hobbies.

Collecting stamps, ok…collecting anything, woodworking, gardening….I just never seemed to have the time or inclination. I’ve just plain sucked at engaging in so-called “leisure activities”: watching the big game on Sunday (I hate watching sports on TV), playing golf or tennis on the weekends, Thursday night bowling. I like to work and I like to create. Since I essentially am my business, it’s pretty hard to separate work from the personal areas of my life. Lines blur. My tendency would be to work and be with my family, and to not have time for anything else.

That’s not a badge of honor.  It’s a recipe for burnout, in both a creative and a very real sense. So starting a couple of years ago, I made a real effort to create time away from my business and away from my camera so I could begin to enjoy other interests.  As a result, I now have a daily practice of meditation. I started writing every day (my challenge this year is to write 1000 words every day). I play the guitar—not well, but getting better daily—a dream I’ve had since I was little. I read a lot, 25 or so books a year. I also take lots of walks and hikes, since being out in nature is a pretty critical part of my renewal and rejuvenation.

I’ve found that it can’t just be about photography, or business, or work, as much as I enjoy those things. I’m certainly not “balanced” on a daily basis, but now I find that taking the time to engage in other activities makes everything else smoother, better, more sustainable.  I’m less stressed and more engaged in all areas of my life as a result.

I’ve learned that what inspires us as creatives isn’t always the work we’re assigned to do. Inspiration comes from many places—from our relationships, from the creative work we take on ‘for fun’ and, of course, from the play—er, hobbies—we engage in.

I was a little late to the party. If not late, then, a late bloomer.

Quora is a social network of sorts—a question—and-answer platform whose slogan is, “The best answer for any question.”  Founded back in 2010, it includes luminaries such as Barack Obama to Dilbert comic creator Scott Adams to UC Berkeley physics professor Richard Muller and many, many others who meet to answer questions about specific topics at which they have expertise or a unique point of view.

It’s been described as the platform for geeks—not surprising, since it started back in Silicon Valley—that skews male, and tech.

There are a lot of photographers, journalists and others using the platform to gain answers to extreme hypothetical questions they have “What would happen if I poured a huge bucket of water on our sun” to the more mundane, “What advice can you give an 18-year-old” to topical: “What is your reaction to Trump winning the US election.”

My buddy Scott turned me on to the platform a few years ago, but I just set it aside and checked in from time to time. I enjoyed lurking, but wouldn’t commit the time to actually answering questions.

Then, last year, I had a surgery that waylaid me for about a month at the beginning of the year. I started surfing Quora, and found that I had a lot of questions that I could give answers to. My background is both as a print and photo-journalist, and I love to write.   It seemed a natural fit. I had only three unwritten rules: One, I wouldn’t ‘tag team’ on a topic, just parroting what others had already answered. In other words, I had to actually have helpful information and a point of view so that I could add to the discourse and not add to the noise. Two, I wouldn’t answer lazy questions that could have been answered just by the questioner taking two seconds to type it into Google: “How much does a Nikon whatever cost new?”  Three, I would answer no questions from people listing themselves as “anonymous” unless the question itself actually called for anonymity.

If I put myself out there in a consistent way—daily—that incremental efforts would produce exponential results.

With that as a start, and with less than 4,000 total views back in January of 2016, I started to read, choose and answer questions to the best of my ability. I thought it would be cool if I could get to 100,000 views by the end of the year.

Imagine my surprise when, on Dec. 31, 2016, my views ended up north of 300,000. Along the way, I learned a profound truth: if I put myself out there in a consistent way—daily—that incremental efforts would produce exponential results. This was not an effort related to my commercial photography business, or any desire to launch a bigger platform. It was just a daily, quiet way to share and engage a larger audience with my own experiences and point of view.

This then, are my top five posts (in terms of total views) for the entire year of 2016. I hope you enjoy:

1.  What is the best photography tip you can teach me?
2. What is the best thing to do in your 20s?
3. What are some amazing historical photos?
4. If a policeman tells me I can’t film him, am I required to “obey a policeman’s lawful order”?
5. What is the best photo ever taken of you and why do you think it’s the best?   (Ironically, I don’t enjoy having my picture taken…but I do love this one).

This month marks 19 years since I got off a bus and walked into a low-slung complex hugging the wooded hills northwest of Kyoto, Japan, not far from Mizuho town. The Dhamma Bhanu is (still) a meditation center and retreat for those studying Vipassana meditation—a technique taught by S.N. Goenka and his followers around the world.

At the time, I had only the barest of reference points for what this ‘Vipassana’ (pronounced, vi-PAS-uh-nuh) stuff even was. A buddy of mine, a fellow English teacher at the school we worked at in Osaka, had done the same retreat I was about to—with trepidation—embark upon. I remember him telling me that it was transformational and life-changing: a ten-day stretch of constant meditation and instruction. A crucial part of the retreat was the vow of silence to occur beginning the morning of the first full day. No talking, no whispering, no making unnecessary noise until the final morning, nine days later. My friend described the intense emotion welling up inside him as he ‘broke through’ internal mental barriers and blockages, and experienced bouts of uncontrollable sobbing at several points. His arms or legs would sometimes move on their own accord. It was intense and it was difficult.

Ten days of silence, with the chance of uncontrolled emotional outbursts and sudden, spontaneous physical moments of my body? Naturally, I signed up for the course immediately. I was teaching English to Japanese students, was living in one of the most populous urban centers in the world, and a ten-day break from the world, just past Christmas, seemed perfect.

I liked the concept of meditation but only thought of it in passing. This way, I’d make up for lost time—cut to the front of the line, figuratively speaking—and would jump-start something that seemed a lot more real to me after living in Japan and Korea for more than two years.

Obviously, that mindset proved I was far from ready to be successful at meditation, which involves sitting in one place, starting at a wall, focusing the breath and the mind, and (at least in my case) being incredibly uncomfortable as my body screamed in pain and my mind jolted from one thought to the next. The epitome of what Buddhist masters call, the “monkey mind”.

I made it through the ten-day retreat. Through the hours of meditation and the hour-long seatings of “strong determination” when we were challenged to move not a muscle for the duration. Through the long days of complete, unbroken, silence.

It was amazing. I won’t go into the teachings of Vipasanna, or the technique—I’m not really qualified to do that. Suffice to say that it started something that, now 19 years later, I’ve finally incorprated into my daily habitual practice. I no longer employ the Vipassana method, but instead use the NSR technique, derived from TM (transcendental meditation). My mind still behaves like a monkey. But I’ve found that as a small business owner and creative with a family, that the daily practice of meditation forms a foundation that pays incalculable dividends. It helps me practice awareness, focus, and forces me, for some long minutes or an hour, to simply ‘be’, without a goal, and without agenda. It’s one of the hardest things I’ve habitually done. It’s not fun. But it continues to help me stronger and more centered as I go about my day.

I spent most of my professional life as a press-card carrying newspaper photojournalist. Counting the full-time, part-time and stringer periods, it amounts to about 13 years in photojournalism, not including the years I spent freelancing and interning during college.

I know. I’m  experienced.

I completely and absolutely loved it. I look at younger photographers coming up now and I lament for them that the amazing avenue I had available to me—newspapers—is no longer so viable for them. There is no better university than a daily newspaper for developing the chops it takes to succeed as a professional photographer. Newspapers are a place where photographers can truly test themselves through regular exposure to the widest possible mix of environments, people and situations.  For those who are lucky enough to be newspaper staff photographers, the experience is transformative.

Here are a few of the lessons that newspapers taught me that I consider indispensable to my career and success as a photographer now, in no particular order:

The importance of making images, not taking photos.
In the beginning of my career, I ‘took’ photos. I photographed simply what was there. Over time, I began to ‘make’ images. I anticipated. I focused on what was important and left the rest. I discerned. I made choices. I made storytelling images. This is called, developing a point of view.

Resilience.
The time I was on a seven-day hike in the middle of the desert, photographing a wilderness camp for teens, and one of my two camera bodies and my long telephoto lens got smashed and dunked in a river within one hour of the trip starting? Resilience. The time I was up for days straight while embedded in Iraq, writing stories and transmitting photos? Resilience. The four years I spent working on a long-term project on the Yakama Indian Nation, working long hours, getting no-shows? Resilience. Resilience is what gets you through the rough spots when the glamour and ‘fun’ of seeing your name in print wears off.

The value of constant improvement.
In the rush of the daily newspaper, sometimes the images published in the paper aren’t the most exciting or the most dramatic photos possible. Often they are prosaic, not creative and downright boring. The kinds of images I wished I didn’t have to put my name under. On those days, feeling dejected and unworthy of the title “photojournalist,” I might have entertained becoming a “sandwich artist” at Subway. But the beauty of a daily newspaper is that there’s always the next day. A new day, a new opportunity to fight the fight. A new chance to take chances, put yourself on the line and do the type of work that makes you feel great and maybe—possibly—can make a difference in your community. At the paper I learned that every day, it was getting up every day and doing your best.

It’s about the story, not about you.
There’s a great few lines in the great movie The Paper where Bernie, the editor, talks to the managing editor, Alicia, who has just asked for another raise: “The people we cover, we move in their world, but it is their world. You can’t live like them. You’ll never keep up. If you try to make this job about the money…you’ll be nothing but miserable, because we don’t get the money. Never have, never will.”
To me this speaks about being authentic and knowing that I’m part of something bigger. Everything is in service to the story, and the journalist, like the photographer, belongs in the trenches, honing their craft. If we do it well, we get some recognition and we get financial rewards…but those are side products and not the main goal.

Sometimes, you just have to make a decision. It’ll be ok.
I learned at the paper that the quicker you could make a decision, the better. The more decisions you make, the better chance you have that some of them will be good ones. Overthinking things usually leads to paralysis and worse decisions.

Do more than the expected. Be a complete journalist.
I learned quickly that if I came back from an assignment with only one or two visual options, whether from a portrait or a news event, then my editors would not be pleased. Not only that, but I was expected to take boring photos, like building exterior “mug” shots and details that were boring, but gave the page designers more options. I was a print journalism major initially, before I picked up a camera. I’ve always loved to write. I found that providing great images was expected in my job, but writing grammatically-correct, journalistic captions elevated me in the eyes of the print journalists and editors I worked with. They saw me as someone who was a journalist first, and a photographer second. I thus learned that you have to pay attention to all aspects of the job—not just bringing back a pretty picture. In this day and age, that’s expected and it’s just not enough.

Constraints are valuable.
As a photojournalist, I rarely had enough time. I had to go into a situation cold and make something happen. Hopefully something great. At those moments, I usually did quite well. When I was given more time and more options, I found that I wasted time thinking about options and less time actually committing to my subject and the story. Journalism taught me that having less—less time, less resources, less options—made me focus on what I could do with what I had, making me more creative and nimble.

The importance of studying human behavior.
To make it in business, to make it as a journalist, to make it in life, one thing is of critical importance. If you don’t know how to deal with people, work with people and understand people, you have an uphill climb. Photojournalism taught me to be a student of human behavior; to look for non-verbal cues and to watch what people say versus what they do. It’s an endlessly fascinating area of study, and it never ends.

Moments trump the technical every time.
I learned early on that if I got so focused on making an image “perfect” from a technical standpoint that I forgot about the subject and the mood and the “moment”, then I was missing the forest for the trees. When in doubt, capture moments that connect with people emotionally. If you can make it technically perfect, great. But if you have to choose it’s not even a contest. Authentic moments always win.

Meaning matters.
What made the long hours and low pay of a staff photojournalist worth it? It was that it was about something bigger than a camera and getting my pictures in print. It was that my job had meaning. The images I took mattered to someone—maybe just the subject and their friends, but sometimes it could make a difference in a community and the larger world. I had the power with my photographs to make a difference, and that fueled me. I’ve learned that you can’t do things just for money. You have to have a reason “why”. That search for meaning has fueled my career as a photojournalist and it still does as a commercial photographer.

Those are a few of the lessons learned as a working photojournalist, shooting everything from Johnny’s first day of kindergarten to Michael Jordan during his short stint as a baseball player with the Birmingham Barons (admittedly, the reality of a newspaper shooter is 99 per cent the former and 1 per cent the latter). I could have learned these lessons and undoubtedly would have, outside of newspapers. Life has a way of rubbing the rough edges off, but I know no other environment but the newspaper that did so in such a short period of time, or so completely. I’ll always be completely thankful for that part of my career.  It gave me much more than I gave it.

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