As much as it pained me to admit it, I knew I was feeling incredibly burned out in my 20 year profession. However, I hadn’t realized the extent to which my burn out had become.
In the beginning I loved my work. I looked forward everyday to the events that were to occur and the creativity that those events would and could inspire. All of the people that I encountered were diversely unusual, beautiful and sometimes delightfully weird. I loved every minute of it.
My life seemed guided by a message found in a Chinese fortune cookie received as a teenager. It was a proverb of sorts that said something along the line that if one enjoyed what he/she did for a living he/she would never have to work again. I embraced that proverb. It was easy for me to figure out what my niche in life should be. I truly believed that I was never going to have to work again.
Cameras were my beloved and precious tools since I was a kid. They later became my lifeline, my soul mates. They enabled me to capture the reality of all uniqueness, beauty and awesomeness within a world that God created especially for us.
My gift of creativity in finding just the right composition at just the right time proved to be lucrative as well as personally uplifting. Through my lens, I was able to summarize many distinguishing moments in Americans’ lives that often slipped so quickly by that they went without notice, until I freeze framed it into snapshots for them. People across the USA loved receiving it, as much as I loved providing it.
Perhaps it was my preoccupation with my work that allowed a rebellious worm to infiltrate my world without me noticing. Or, perhaps it was my Pollyanna-type attitude that caused me not to notice the strange ugliness creeping into my line of work and life. Either way, unpleasantness and downright meanness began to rear its ugly head. When the severity of the situation finally became a realization to me, it was a complete slap in the face.
Despair was all that I could feel when I opened my eyes and looked out over the world I’d been blessed by and believed in for all of my life. The American people had become angry, rude, greedy, and seeking some sort of warped vengeance for inconsequential issues. Accusations of infringement rights became rampant. Accusations of inappropriate photography intents were rampant as well. The list of complaints and lawsuits threatened by Americans became non-stop. The ever increasing bureaucracy, rules and regulations caused me to start walking on eggshells on a daily basis.
I found myself questioning my own motives and feeling a tinge of fear with every opening and closing of the shudder.
My fortune cookie theory was falling apart. The craft that I had treasured most all of my life had slowly become something that I hated and passionately detested.
Before I knew it I even hated my own people, the American people. I hated the art of photography. I hated, hated, hated.
Looking through a scope, getting the subject centered just so, questioning my own motives and feeling that tinge of fear... then shoot. It was the same principle as photography only with a much more satisfying effect for my cause.
I hate the prison psychologist for making me write this essay about my thoughts.