This morning my friend Marnie told me that “I eat life with a big spoon.”
Some people nibble at life cautiously. They wait for the “right time.” They hesitate before saying yes. They stand on the edge of experiences instead of diving in.
But then there are people who grab the biggest spoon they can find and scoop up every bit of wonder, curiosity, adventure, heartbreak, laughter, and possibility they can.
Photographers tend to be those people.
We wake up at unreasonable hours for sunrise. We pull over on the side of the road because the light suddenly turned magical. We wander unfamiliar streets with cameras around our necks hoping to discover something unexpected. We spend entire vacations lingering behind because “just one more shot” appeared.
Photography itself is an act of eating life with a big spoon.
Every time we raise a camera, we are saying:
I want to notice this.
I want to remember this.
I want to experience this fully.
The best photographs rarely come from playing it safe. They come from wandering down the alley instead of staying on the main road. From attending the workshop even when we feel intimidated. From saying yes to the road trip. From trying intentional camera movement even when we’re not sure it will work. From talking to the stranger at the café. From stepping into discomfort long enough to discover something beautiful.
And honestly, friendships work the same way.
Some of my favorite memories aren’t tied to perfect plans. They’re tied to friends who said:
“Let’s go.”
“Why not?”
“Take your time.”
“Turn around — the light is amazing.”
The people who understand photographers are special souls. They tolerate our lingering. Our constant stopping. Our obsession with clouds and shadows and reflections in puddles. They wait while we crouch awkwardly beside flowers or stand in the rain because “the mood is incredible.”
Those friendships become part of the photograph too.
When I look back through my images, I often remember less about the technical settings and more about the people who shared the experience with me. The laughter in the car. The long conversations over coffee after shooting. The friend patiently standing nearby while I photographed the same doorway from six different angles.
Photography has taught me this:
Life moves quickly.
Light changes.
Seasons shift.
Opportunities disappear.
So maybe the answer is to stop sampling life so cautiously.
Take the trip.
Go to the workshop.
Sign up for the class.
Carry the camera.
Call the friend.
Chase the light.
Order dessert.
Linger longer.