Times have changed—or maybe it’s just that as I’ve gotten older, my perspective has shifted. Even in quiet moments, the world feels loud. In homes, offices, gyms, and online spaces, someone always has something to say. And somewhere along the way, the line between disagreement and confrontation blurred. Humanity started choosing the fight instead of the conversation.

As I write this, I find myself wondering: is this just age talking?
Maybe. But maybe it’s also something photography has slowly been teaching me.

You might be thinking, What does any of this have to do with taking pictures?
Honestly—everything.

These thoughts made me revisit a simple question:
When was the last time someone surprised me with kindness?

Working from home limits my interactions, so at first nothing came to mind. But then I remembered the connections I’ve made through social media—photographers, creatives, peers who took the time to give me honest critiques. People who didn’t owe me anything but offered guidance, perspective, and encouragement anyway. That’s kindness.

And it made me look back at my work with new eyes. There are moments—quiet ones—when I catch myself softening while looking through the viewfinder. A family sharing a laugh. Animals running freely. An empty beach with nothing but waves and wind. Somewhere along the way, my internal world changed. The camera didn’t just help me see others differently—it helped me see myself differently too.

A Photograph of My Grandmother

Recently I went back home and took pictures of my grandmother. As I lifted the camera, something shifted. I saw her differently—the grey in her hair, the wrinkles that held stories, the eyes that carried an entire lifetime.

Photography suddenly wasn’t about “getting the shot.”
It was about feeling it.
Holding the moment in my hands.
Breathing it in.
Understanding it.

That single moment reminded me that photography is emotion, memory, and honesty wrapped into one frame.

Unexpected Friendships

Photography has also opened doors to people I otherwise would’ve never known.
Take Rick—someone whose talent in monochrome is undeniable. We met in a classroom, connected through a photo studio, and discovered we shared more in common than we expected: music, food, culture, the pursuit of inner peace.

Then there’s @mtmarlett. Without photography, he would’ve been just another username in a long scroll of Instagram profiles. I would’ve missed the random photo stories, the behind-the-scenes moments, the conversations. And Saye—whose dance skills and motivational energy bring life into any room.

These experiences taught me how to show kindness in return.
Even when shooting from afar, I try not to disturb the moment. I let it breathe on its own. Let the scene tell its story without me altering it. Sometimes, the kindest thing a photographer can do is simply observe.

Photography as a Teacher

My work has taught me to slow down. Not just point and shoot.
But listen.
Notice.
Pay attention.

Colors. Movement. The way people shift their weight when they’re nervous. The sound of cars rushing by. The mood of a room. Without a camera in my hand, I might’ve missed those lessons entirely.

There’s a photograph that shaped the way I see people. It’s one of my mom. I was on the couch; she was at the kitchen table. She thought I was asleep. Her face carried something heavy—worry, sadness, exhaustion. In that moment, she wasn’t just “Mom.” She was a woman with her own battles.

That photo taught me empathy before I even knew the word for it.

Years later, a professor shared a photograph of Muhammad Ali—deep in thought, expression soft but weighted. I recognized that expression immediately. I’d seen it before.

That’s when I realized:
Those are the kinds of images I want to create.
Honest. Raw. Human.

Choosing Peace

Kindness isn’t just displayed in soft moments—it’s tested in hard ones.
I’ve seen how divisive comment sections can be, how quickly people argue. And even in real life, there are days when tension feels unavoidable.

Photography taught me to walk away.

When I shoot while angry, everything feels rushed—snap, snap, snap, let’s just get this over with. But to make a good image, you must breathe. You must slow down. You must wait for the moment to align. That forced stillness has calmed me more times than I can count.

Choosing peace has helped me protect my relationships—creative and personal. Offering constructive criticism, being open to conversation, and staying grounded has kept me connected to the people who matter.

The Camera as a Mirror

Photography has changed me.
My approach is more thoughtful now.
Slower.
More intentional.

Kindness reshaped the way I photograph people. I try to capture emotion while letting the moment live naturally. No forcing. No rushing. No intruding.

When I hold my camera now, I feel pride in how far I’ve come. Calm. Selective. Sometimes nervous, yes. But always excited. Excited to relive the sounds, the smells, the quiet details behind each frame.

It’s taken years to grow out of insecurity, fear, nervousness. And I’m still learning.
Photography—and life—is a never-ending lesson.

Through it all, one thing remains true:
Kindness is not a weakness. It’s the strongest part of this journey.

To Close: Four Questions I Carry With Me

These are the questions that have guided me recently, and I’ll leave them with you:

1. If you could tell your younger self one thing about kindness, what would it be?
2. What has photography helped you forgive—whether in others or in yourself?
3. What do you hope people feel when they see your work?
4. How do you want to leave people—both in life and in your photos?

-Chris