Have you ever wondered why certain moments stay with you?
Not because of how pretty the location was, or because it was great for social media, but because that moment was quietly trying to tell you something—something deeper. A connection. Something that touched your heart or stopped you dead in your tracks and made you live in the moment.

The older I get, the more of those moments I notice.
Sometimes I think becoming a photographer has made things more visible—not just out there in the world, but inside me too.

Seeing What’s Already There

Photography has made peace visible.
Tranquility. Silence.
It’s made happiness visible. Sadness. Empathy. Humility.

Photography has helped me see from a different perspective—a different breath.
I’ve said it countless times—it’s made me slow down and really take things for what they are. But saying that is me being sincere.

The Photo That Stayed

I remember taking a trip with a good friend to Los Angeles for a random photo day. Our first stop was Placita Olvera. I took several shots there, but one in particular stuck with me.

A simple photo.
An older man—possibly someone’s abuelo—crossing the street. Big flannel long sleeve, baseball cap, hauling two carts, both filled.

That abuelo made me stop and see him.
I saw culture. Strength. Struggle.
I saw how quiet that moment was for him—just strolling through the street, maybe running another everyday errand.

Before this shot, I had already returned to photography. I had already learned to slow down and see things. But this moment was different. It was the first time a simple moment carried so much weight.

That photo made me pause—but not just then. It lingered.
It raised a question I still haven’t shaken.

Am I Chasing or Holding On?

Is photography my way of chasing something?
Or possibly holding onto it?

Age brings clarity, but it also makes you sit down and reminisce.
I’ve realized I’ve tried freezing time to reclaim memories. To witness meaning.
Memories of my mom. So many of my grandmother.
Family moments that now, as an adult, hit different.

Being raised alternately by my mom and grandmother—both of whom lived the single-mother life—meant things weren’t easy. Time together was limited. Park visits were rare. Family time even rarer.

But those little moments we did share?
I play them on repeat in my mind as often as I can.
Even with my mom’s passing, the connection is still there.

A Bench, a Photo, and a Flashback

I remember one afternoon, walking through a local park with my wife. On our way back to the car, she stopped to use the restroom. I waited near a bench, and a mother sat there with her two children.

I instinctively took a quick photo.

Why?
Because in that moment, I was transported back to the little time I spent with my mom or grandmother as a kid.

Now, with my mom gone and my grandmother gracefully aging into her 80s, I cherish these moments more than ever. That photo of the family made me feel like I had captured something nearly invisible in today’s fast-paced world.

Moments like that aren’t just heartwarming—they deserve to be frozen and preserved.

The Power of Silence

Silence has become a huge part of my process too.

Many might think silence isn’t something positive to live with. But for me, silence is a tool—something I’ve learned to use while waiting for the shot.

In those quiet moments, the loudest emotions speak.

The shots that “pop,” the ones that “make noise” or “grab attention”?
They live in those silent frames.

Silence teaches you to listen—not with your ears, but with your eyes.

Mexico and the Flag

A few years ago, my wife and I visited Mexico.
How many times have we stood in the presence of a flag? Countless times, right?

But there was a moment during that trip where we were waiting for transportation. Just my wife and I. It was quiet. I had my camera in hand, and in the distance, high above, the Mexican flag waved back and forth.

In that moment, I felt culture, pride, joy.
I snapped the shot.

The Ring and the Quiet

More recently, I’ve spent time inside a boxing gym, working with some incredible people—coaches, boxers alike.

The quiet moments have shown me these men in a louder way.
I’ve witnessed passion, the love of the sport, commitment, the willingness to go through the blood, sweat, and tears.

I’ve seen the fight to push forward. To not give up.
The ring speaks the loudest in the quietest moments.

Finding Myself in the Frame

Learning to sit in silence has shown me who I am with a camera in hand.
I’ve realized that’s when I feel most myself—quiet, at peace, analytical, resilient.

When I shoot, I’m one with my culture.
I’m not just telling my story—I’m telling our story.

Taking a Photo vs. Making One

With all of this, I’ve also learned the difference between taking a photo and making one.

Anyone can snap a picture.
But making one?
That takes instinct. Patience. Love.

I know that might sound repetitive—but it’s real.

The Locker Room Shot

Recently, I shot Misael “The Missile” De La Cruz getting his hands wrapped by his coach, Virgil “Quicksilver” Hill.

That moment gave me flashbacks.

How many times have I seen that exact image on pay-per-view fights?
Boxers getting wrapped in the locker room.

But this time?
I wasn’t watching it on TV—I was there, in real life, in living color.

That photo changed how I approached both my art and my life.

The Light in the Shadows

Silence has given me another gift: the ability to seek the light within the shadows.

You might be thinking, “Well, of course you need light—you’re a photographer.”
But to me, light is more than technical.
It’s emotional. Spiritual. Philosophical.

Light, to me, is story.
It’s what makes a photo breathe.

A photo without light is empty.
A photo without meaning is empty.

The Reason I Keep Coming Back

Through all this, photography has helped me survive.
Helped me get back up. Stay grounded.
Process grief, joy, and purpose.

It’s shown me I’ve moved forward from my past.
That purpose was always there—I just needed the right tool to bring it into focus.

And through every dark moment—no matter how cliché it sounds—
light is at the other end.

So… Why?

So, why do I keep coming back to it?

When no one is watching…
When no clients call…
When no one is liking my posts…

What brings me back?

Heavy question, right?

But the answer is simple:
The memories. The smiles. The positivity photography provides.

Frozen Frames and Fulfillment

Recently, I started diving into my old work.
Seeing progress is always rewarding.

But beyond that—it’s the “remember this?”
Or “how did I miss that?”
Or simply:

“They look happy… this is beautiful.”

Those frozen frames make it all worthwhile.

The culture behind my work is deeply fulfilling.
Shining a spotlight on my people.
Demonstrating what we’re capable of.
Sharing our stories.

That’s why I keep coming back.

To Be Seen

And finally, photography has given me clarity about something else, too.
A question I want to highlight:

What does it mean to see someone—or be seen?

It’s so much more than walking past a stranger.
It’s about connection.
It’s about sitting still. Listening. Allowing someone to be vulnerable.
To share their truth.

That, to me, is what it means to be seen.

A Final Question

I’ll leave you with this:

What question am I still chasing every time I lift my camera?

If not for the lens, would these moments still exist?
Would today’s stories still live on tomorrow?

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