October Greetings and fall blessings to all who read this.  May the divine light of our radiant universe flood your heart and home with warmth, light and peace.

The last 24 hours have been full of emotion.  They have been full of self-reflection.  They have been full of quiet anger and embarrassment.  They have been full of questions and self-doubt.  My mind and heart have become a quagmire of sorts.  Dwelling and lamenting on one word.  Failure.

“Failure, Mike?  Really?”

Yes.  Really.  Failure to bring impact.  Failure to provide joy.  Failure to give smiles for which people, paid for.  Failure to serve the mission statement in bio. 

In my professional life, there have been times of these feelings.  The not accomplishing or failing to meet a desired outcome or deadline.  But, the mitigating factor for me, is that my professional life and passions have and will always be kept separate.  Successes in the office feel much different than successes outside it.  I do not feel the soulful pride or soul crushing defeat of success and failure in the office and out of the office, respectively.  I have been trained to perform a job.  An occupation that enables me to pour my heart into my passion. 

Enter the failure, but first, let me take you all back to the first time I felt the pang of failure the hardest.  A time where another passion of mine came to an abrupt end.  A cessation of something I lived and breathed for.  Swimming.

After my career as a competitive swimmer ended my senior year of high school, I poured my love for the sport into coaching.  I had been an assistant coach for my summer swim team for two years now (competing and coaching the younger swimmers) and I loved it.  I was passionate about sharing my love and knowledge of the sport (which I wanted to continue at the Division 1 level, but tired and worn out shoulders would no longer allow) to the younger generation.  I wrote practice plans up, focused on sharpening up techniques of kids on my team.  Forming relationships with my whole team and urging each child to find the beauty in each race and to be their best.  My teams weren’t ever going to win a championship with the talent it had, but I was determined to make the season fun and enjoyable for all who were involved.

Year 4 was met with some new faces and some personalities (parents) I recognized immediately as potentially challenging.  No matter.  I was 20 years old and full of zest and vigor for the sport I could no longer compete in, but I could bring that fire within me, to these kids.  We practiced in the morning every day in the summer.  We had meets against other teams in the leagues on Tuesday and Thursday nights.  We had all day invitational tournaments on Saturdays.  I loved the days of meets.  Seeing old teammates and rivals, who also, were now coaching the youth.  We hugged and laughed.  We remembered and joked about races and meets.  We still loved, this sport. 

As the season wore on, it became apparent that some parents (two mind you), we will call them Barb and Joanne, were less than thrilled with the fact that their children were simply not talented enough to make it into “Live Heats” (live heats are where points are actually scored for the competing teams.  There are also “Exhibition Heats” for all other swimmers to have the opportunity to compete.  There was never a time ALL swimmers didn’t have the opportunity to swim in the maximum three events).  Every Tuesday and Thursday, the line-ups would be posted on the bulletin board in the breezeway of our pool, and kids and parents alike would look to see what and where they would be swimming.  Inevitably, where Barb and Joanne’s kids would compete was never good enough (they were always exhibition swimmers).  They would approach me about allowing them to compete in a live heat, and every time I would inform them that they were in fact, competing.  They practiced hard and kept getting better.  They always had the chance to compete.  Shaking their heads, they would walk away grumbling under their breath.  I tried to not let it bother me, but those of you who know me personally, know that I take things personally and have a hard time with not meeting people’s expectations.  I am a “people pleaser”.  It matters to me what others think and how they feel.  Personality flaw?  Perhaps.  I chalk it up to simply, I care.  I expect the best out of myself at all times.

The end of the swimming season had a county wide meet where all three divisions were invited to compete for the county championship.  As it implies, the best of the best were at this meet, and I always allowed kids to opt in or out.  It didn’t matter to me as we were never going to “win it all”.  I just wanted the very talented kids to have a chance to possibly win an age group title or just simply compete against the best.  Both of my challenging parents wanted their kids there.  No matter, no worries.  If they wanted to compete, I was happy to enter them into the meet and allow them to.  Good for them!

The day of the meet was hot and humid as Pennsylvania summers are.  It was late afternoon and the last few races were nearly upon all who were there.  I had just seated Barb and Joanne’s kids on the “ready benches” for them to begin the wait for their races.  I told them to follow the directions (they are 8 year olds, so following directions was needed) of the ready bench staff.  I walked away to go grab the next group of kids and to watch my sister swim in the final race of her swimming career.    As fate would have it, madness would ensue.

After I watched my sister swim, I gave her a big hug and congratulated her on a job well done.  We chatted for a bit and did a little reminiscing about all the years we spent at these meets.  I left her to talk with my parents and went to go grab the next group of kids who would be getting into the ready bench cue.  As I am walking up with the group of rowdy boys, I was met by an irate Barb and Joanne.  They began to rant about their kiddos missing their event.  I stood there perplexed.  I let them know I got them seated in the ready bench area and then went to watch my sister.  That was not acceptable to them.  They let me know one of the kids had to use the restroom and that since they were friends, they both went.  They didn’t know how to get back to the benches in time and as such, missed their event.  I apologized profusely, but it didn’t matter.  Joanne, who was never ashamed to express her feelings, let me know that both her and Barb had been questioning my love of the sport all year and how I only catered to the kids with talent.  Her expectation was that I stay there until the kids were behind the blocks.  Wow.  Gut punch.  I loved all those kids.

Barb took her arm and off they strode.  I took the group of boys to the ready benches and seated them.  The next and last hour of the meet passed in a haze.  I remember driving home and thinking about what I had done wrong.  I agonized about these kids missing their events.  I hated the fact they didn’t have the ability to swim one final race for the season before the clutches of fall and school took hold.  I failed.  That’s what it came down to.  I failed.  I was a failure.  Only one thing to do as a failure, quit.  At our awards picnic that following week, I announced that I would not return the following year to coach.  The sport was now dead to me.

I experienced those emotions once again.  I didn’t meet a paying client’s expectations.  I failed.  I was, yet again, a failure.  Never did I think that would happen again for something I considered a passion.  I spend time studying techniques, poses, lighting and locations.  I take days off to scout new locations and areas for clients.  I was (am still am feeling a little) crushed.  How could I let someone down again?  What course of action is there to take?  Is it time to end my four year venture into photography?  I’m not sure as I pen this blog, but I know that I have taken some images I am proud of.  I know I love hearing when clients are excited about their sets and seeing them on Christmas cards and in school yearbooks.  I love hearing from new clients about the rave reviews they got when recommending me to shoot their own families.  What to do…  What to do…

As I type the last few sentences of this and reflect on a long ago story as well as the most recent one, I am contemplating a few shoots I have this weekend and find myself questioning my abilities again.  The dark monster of depression begins to creep in.  It begins to sink its talons into my heart and soul.  The thought crosses my head to cancel all the shoots and simply quit.  But, it also fuels a new feeling.  The competitive fire returns for a bit and stokes something.  It makes me want to get back out and click that shutter with a new sense of creativity.  To wipe away any traces of complacency which may have crept in and replace it with the same gusto I had when I began this venture.  Yes.  Yes, that is the ticket. 

The Buddha said this and I hold this true today, “Everything that has a beginning has an ending.  Make your peace with that and all will be well.”  I bid goodbye to the memories of both instances and look forward to a new day. 

May you all be filled with joy and happiness.  Take stock of your own successes and failures and see how you too, can allow the sting of the failures, to fade away.  I hope that wherever you are, you can watch leaves turn gold, snowflakes fall to the ground and celebrate a new day and a new beginning. 

“Leave nothing but footprints, take nothing but pictures, kill nothing but time.”

Namaste, friends.