When Critical Thought Turns on You
Critical thought is almost always imagined as an outward act, a way of evaluating someone else’s claims, spotting the bias in their reasoning, exposing the flaws in their evidence. What’s almost never discussed is its inward form: using the same discipline to interrogate the architecture of our own beliefs.
The Rest Goes Out with the Tide
Loss can move in both directions. We lose people, and we also lose the version of ourselves that existed with them. In Sealskin, Jeff Dworsky’s photographs sit in that space. They aren’t distant observations of someone else’s life; they are the life. His children grow. The seasons change. Work is done and undone. And then something shifts, a presence is gone, though the photographs never name it.
Forget the Rules
And sometimes it’s okay to break the rules.
I know. That sentence shouldn’t exist. Not if you believe every red correction you ever got in school. But here we are. Sometimes a rule is a handrail. Useful on the stairs. Useless in an open field.
The Americans as Cultural Revolt
When I first opened The Americans, I didn’t know whether I was more eager for Robert Frank’s photographs or Jack Kerouac’s introduction. As a photographer, I wanted to dive straight into the images. As a writer, I wanted to hear Kerouac set the tone. It’s rare for one book to pull me both ways at once.
You Were Never Meant to Be the Customer
In a system built on consumption, identity is no longer grounded in what we create, but in what we buy. The individual is not viewed as a generative force, but as a vessel for demand; a predictable recipient of ads, trends, and targeted offers. Even labor, once a mark of contribution, has been recast as a cost to be minimized. In this economy, you are not a producer. You are the market.
What Are We Actually Protecting? Why Rights, Justice, and Representation Shouldn’t Be Reserved for Citizens
We often defend rules as if they are sacred, but forget to ask what they were made to protect. If rights only apply to citizens, are they really rights at all?
The Stories We Tell Ourselves
I once believed that stability meant staying put, that consistency required routine, and that adventure was something other people pursued. But eventually, a quieter realization took hold: these weren’t facts. They were stories I had repeated to myself until they began to feel like truth. I started to wonder what else I had mistaken for reality. What other inherited beliefs had quietly shaped the contours of my life?
Relearning to See
I’m standing in front of the lighthouse on Brier Island, Nova Scotia, squinting at my cell phone screen. It’s windy and bright, the air thick with salt and the faint sound of waves meeting rocks far below. I know exactly how I want this image to feel: romantic, adventurous, the kind of photo that makes people ache to stand here themselves. But when I look at the image I’ve captured, it’s flat, just a snapshot. It’s good enough for a phone, but not enough to satisfy what I’m chasing.
Reclaiming Attention in an Age of Distraction
I pick up my phone without thinking, thumb moving automatically, drawn by a force of habit rather than any real decision. Mid-scroll, awareness returns, sudden and sharp, and I catch myself in the act. A discomfort settles in my chest. My attention, that quiet current shaping every experience I have, is slipping through my fingers. How long have I allowed distraction to dictate the rhythm of my days?
The Myth of the Big Leap
“I want to go part-time,” I say.
My manager sits across the desk, a slightly quizzical look on her face. I’ve been in a full-time position at this hospital for nearly fourteen years. I love what I do, but I’m burning out. I need more time to pursue my life.
She leans back, hesitant.
“How many hours do you want?”
“Three days, eight hours each day,” I tell her. Then I pause. “Three in a row.”
Because I know how this works. I know there will be some effort to control it, to fragment the time.
The Architecture of My Creative Life
I lean down and scratch Margo behind the ears. She squints her eyes and begins to purr. A moment ago, I was still in bed. Now I’m making my way downstairs, moving through the small rituals that begin the day: grinding the beans, filling the kettle, opening the shades to let the morning in. The windows are a little hazy and could probably use cleaning, but I’ve grown to like the way the light comes through, softened and quiet.
What If We Didn’t Need to Escape
We’ve been sold a shallow version of the good life.
It looks like a beach chair. A plane ticket. A glossy brochure offering two weeks of escape from a routine that quietly wears us down. The structure remains untouched, but for a brief moment, we are allowed to step outside it, if we’ve earned it, if we’ve saved enough, if we promise to return.
A Wrong Turn, a Horse, and a Cabin in the Rain
I drove an hour and a half to Alisa’s place, and we headed for CVG in the late afternoon. An overnight flight to London got us in early the next morning, running on airport coffee and not much sleep.
Across the Street in Donegal
We landed in Dublin with a hotel booked all the way across the country—in Donegal. No car rental, no train tickets. Just a general sense of direction and the quiet confidence that we’d figure it out…
Not Here to Please You
I posted a photograph the other day to the Frames Photography Facebook group: three women, standing in front of the courthouse in Troy, Ohio. They were holding signs. It was quiet, striking, and very human.
That image drew more response than I expected. Not about the composition or the tone, but about what people assumed it meant.
Telling the Story a Little Differently
Lately, I’ve been doing a lot more writing.
I’ve dabbled with blog posts and articles over the years, but it’s always been sporadic—something I returned to when time allowed or when a particular story asked for it. Now, I’m trying to be more deliberate…
Wander Light Is Here — And Here’s What It Really Means
There’s a moment, somewhere in the middle of the road, when you realize you’ve been carrying too much—not just in your bag, but in your life…
Why I Still Travel With One Backpack
I’ve never been interested in packing light just to prove a point. I’m not counting ounces. I’m not trying to win at minimalism. I carry one backpack because it keeps me honest…
Photography as a Way of Noticing
I didn’t start taking photos to be a photographer. I just wanted to see more clearly…