Getting Laid Off and Waking the Eff Up
On feeling burnout, freedom, and rediscovering why photography is more than an obsession.
First, thanks for reading and sharing my first newsletter!
Honestly, this isn’t my first rodeo “starting” things. Podcasts, photo sites, blogs, etc have been a part of my life since 1999. In 2010, I spent an entire year publishing a photo a day and writing small vignettes about them. I even included that detail in a job interview and it lead to my first role in tech. The project was a lovely exercise in slowing down, sculpting narratives, and challenging myself to appreciate the mundane. It feels so trivial and simple, but I think creative pushups like this help make us stronger in our craft. Or maybe it’s more like artistic burpees.
Two questions immediately popped up when I sent the first newsletter a few days ago: what value can I provide every week to you and what expectations should I have? So here’s the thing: I want to help inspire you to think about the visual world around you. I want you to think about the memories you’re creating and why they matter. I want you to think about how you’ll tell stories about those narratives, and what you’re trying to pass on. And I want you to look at artists in your life and ask how you can support them.
Some admin: I’m thinking this newsletter will be a nice Sunday morning read, like today. Hopefully, it will be a very light, visually appealing thing you pick up and scan during that first cup of coffee or right after your kid throws their breakfast on the floor because you didn’t cut the strawberries in the right way. This shouldn’t get in the way. You can discard it. You can look at some pictures and read the paragraph below. It’s ok.
Sunday mornings. Every week. Now on to this week’s visual disclosures.
Can you remember how you felt at the beginning of 2023?
For me, 2023 started out with the perennial enthusiasm for new beginnings, refreshed dreams, ambitious commitments, and an overall sense that as a world, things might just be getting better after three years of pandemic hell. I stayed up with my eldest until midnight. He was so proud of himself. We woke up the next day and cleaned the house since we had a fun party.
My family had recently moved to a new neighborhood, having outgrown where we’d initially established roots in Seattle. Our new place was larger, and brighter, capturing light and sun even in the most minimal of sunlit days (and there are like a thousand a month in Seattle). I was also coming off of a three-week work hiatus after quitting my previous job to take on a more challenging and lucrative role at what most in the industry would call a “rocket ship.” I was so ecstatic. A new chapter of my career. More money. Bigger role. My LinkedIn had another great logo on it. Climbing the corporate ladder, baby!
What a naive numbnut
Rocketships go fast. Rocketships have energy. Rocketships mesmerize.
Rocketships also regularly blow the fuck up in a spectacular exhibit of particle chaos. Challenger nightmares are still a thing.
When I tell you that my first seven weeks of 2023 were the most bullshit weeks since the 2016 general election, it means my entire idea of success – doing the right thing and believing ambition pays off – (and whatever other maxim pops up) was jolted. Hard.
I was flabbergasted by how vulnerable our life could be, how some remote boss 3000 miles away with less experience than me could completely rewrite my story. I started feeling bitter. I questioned my expertise. I started getting anxious about my livelihood. The first day was a feeling of wanting to puke, scream, cry, and kick stuff.
But let me tell you, friends, it was an awakening.
I wish there was something new, and profound that I could share, but the truth is that I spent those first few weeks of getting laid off entirely and completely giddy about my freedom. Full disclosure: I worked for six weeks and got three months of severance, which lessened the blow a bit.
The truth is that I was long overdue for some serious rest, contemplation, and spontaneity.
Apparently, roughly 42% of people in the US are experiencing burnout, but I’m going to anecdotally say that 50% of my network is burned out/jaded/completely over the bullshit of corporate work. And who’s to blame us? We’ve been told our entire lives to work hard, play by the rules, get the degree by any means necessary, and show up to work to grind our little hearts out. But as soon as the waves get turbulent, all of us ladder climbers are thrust from the climb with hardly a parachute, and sort of expected to both keep our composure on the descent, manage the fall, get back up, and urgently find another fucking ladder. And then there are assholes that get to keep their jobs. For fuck’s sake, man!
(Ok this might be a lot for Sunday but roll with me here!)
Deep Breath
I can’t recall the immediate motivation to get back into photography. Even stating that sentence is weird because photography isn’t a phase for me. It’s like breathing. I take pictures of everything: my kid picking his nose, a flower, a dog taking a shit, shadows on a car, a friend eating a sandwich. I don’t like to use the word “obsession” when it comes to photography because breathing isn’t an obsession; it’s life.
The thing is, I had grown really stagnant with my breathing. I didn’t nurture it, nor did I involve myself in cultivating new ways of breathing. I didn’t study it anymore and I didn’t feel compelled to be present with it. We’re talking about photography, by the way, in case you’re wondering what deep end I went off of.
I spent those first few weeks of funemployment getting my creative self (is there really another person in here?) organized again, and some really interesting things happened.
I began to rediscover photographs I’d taken during what seemed to be another life – one fueled by new experiences, uncertainty, fear of the unknown, and potentially – if I’m honest – desperation. I could almost feel the consumption of curiosity driving all of these things, an impulse to gather, keep, and treasure. Some of these photos, actually most of them, are pre-ubiquitous social media. I captured stuff for me.
Photography isn’t a phase for me. It’s like breathing.
Another great thing happened: I began to reconnect with my friend Joshua Sariñana about photography as a craft and philosophy. We also talked about gear, about printing, about how fucking hard it is to take pictures of people. This then led me to do something incredibly new: I took professional portraits of my friends. And then I told people I did it. And it was really scary.
I also began to ask questions about what life endeavors are going to be remembered on my deathbed.
Am I going to tell people about the marketing campaigns I launched in my midlife, or the inspiring and fulfilling moments that I captured through photography? Will I really care about the car I drove at the age of 40 or tell people about the way printing my photographs makes me feel? Will I preach brand strategy frameworks or will I tell people about the photos, videos, and polaroids I’ve collected that help me remember my daughter’s smile, my favorite corner of a street, or my favorite view from that one time in Maui? There is a volatility to all of this that I’m so appreciative of because I like to think of myself as someone who craves some uprooting. As I continue to discover and rediscover why I take pictures, I hope to learn more about things like happiness, curiosity, and unease.
Sundays, amirite?
It might take a few of these to get my rhythm
I didn’t really know if I wanted to start a newsletter because I have the normal question, “Will anyone even find my musings interesting?” But as a going-on-mid-40s-millennial, I think I’ve experienced some shit.
But I’m not here to preach. I’d like to start a community of musings and collective experiences, and I want to make sure I’m participating in your conversations as well. I am looking for follow-ups. What a lot of platforms haven’t done for me is provide a breakthrough to consistent discussion. Myspace honestly had it. Facebook for a bit. Twitter sucked for me. And so on.
Maybe because I don’t have a brand. Maybe because I’m not that interested. Or maybe because I’m not a good listener. But I’d like to work on these things, and this is part of the process.
This substack newsletter will almost always lead with photography and visual imagery as the spearhead for things I want to talk about, which will likely include questions and observations around fatherhood, class, art, music, photography, gluttony, burgers, friendship, and probably money. Fuck. I think about money a lot. Do you?
Yet, I know the most challenging thing for me week over week will be to assess and translate why photography makes me feel a certain way. Sometimes it’s just a dopamine rush; other times it’s a longing for something just out of reach. Most of the time I am simply collecting for viewing later, a hoarder of moments stashing relics of things that “once were” or feelings “I once had.”
In the coming weeks and months, I hope this becomes a venue for other voices too. I plan to interview some really interesting people I have encountered in my life, who have taught me something both big and small and have made an imprint on how I think, how I live, and what I want to remember about this world. Stay tuned for those because I think I know some really cool people!
Last thing. I promise. It blew my mind.
Brain synchrony. From the Scientific American:
An early, consistent finding is that when people converse or share an experience, their brain waves synchronize. Neurons in corresponding locations of the different brains fire at the same time, creating matching patterns, like dancers moving together. Auditory and visual areas respond to shape, sound and movement in similar ways, whereas higher-order brain areas seem to behave similarly during more challenging tasks such as making meaning out of something seen or heard. The experience of “being on the same wavelength” as another person is real, and it is visible in the activity of the brain.
Like, what!
Thanks for reading. Happy Sunday!
Loved it. I knew you are a fine photographer, but man your writing is great too! So many things you said hit close to home.
Can’t wait till next Sunday.
This is so good. And I love the fonts and colors you chose for the site design; you inspired me to put a little time into the editorial design. It sounds like getting laid off this year was maybe the best thing that could have happened to you at this moment in life? I entirely relate to focusing too much of my energy on career and not enough on the things that bring me happiness: relationships, hobbies, creativity. You might enjoy the Italian movie Still Time on Netflix. (https://www.netflix.com/us/title/81660233) It’s a bit predictable and cheesy, but it’s also creative and relatable in how stupidly hard it can be to focus on the things that matter.