2025: A year of choosing me

In May, I traveled to Cameroon, Africa. For more than three weeks, we moved through forests, rivers, and small towns, documenting the work of a Texas A&M department head and the impact of research happening far from conference rooms and headlines. It was the kind of work that demands humility. I listened more than I spoke. I photographed people where they live, work, and lead—often in moments that were unguarded and deeply human. That experience stays with you, not because of the images alone, but because of the trust behind them.

At the University Photographers Association of America symposium in Tennessee, I found something I didn’t know I was missing. I found my people. Photographers who understand this strange space we occupy—part artist, part documentarian, part advocate. The conversations were honest and grounding. Supportive without pretense. I left feeling seen, understood, and reminded that community matters more than credentials. I was also grateful for the opportunity to speak this year, sharing experiences and lessons shaped by years in the field. To finish July off, I returned to the Summit Sports Photography Workshop in Denver as an instructor, allowing me to lean even further into my passion for teaching and mentorship—giving back, answering questions, and investing in the next generation. Standing in those rooms, learning alongside others and helping where I could, reaffirmed something important: growth is collective, and learning never really stops.

Throughout the year, the work kept coming. Sports assignments. Story-driven shoots. Moments that demanded instinct and years of experience to get right. Even in a year full of transition, the act of making photographs never stopped anchoring me.

But 2025 wasn’t only about where I went or what I photographed. It was also about how I lived in the spaces in between.

I found new hobbies—simple, grounding ones. I started making frames for my own prints, slowing down the process and reconnecting with the physical side of the work. Measuring, cutting, assembling. Letting my hands do something quiet and deliberate. It became a form of rest and a reminder that not everything needs to be rushed or optimized.

I also set financial and life goals this year—and for the first time, I stuck to them. Not out of pressure, but out of respect for myself and the future I’m building. Clarity replaced anxiety. Intention replaced drift. That alone changed how I move through my days.

Friends and family became a priority in a way they hadn’t been before. Not as something I squeezed in, but as something I protected. Time together mattered more. Conversations went deeper. I showed up more fully, and that choice made everything else feel more balanced.

And then came the decision I never thought I’d make. I left a job I genuinely believed I would retire in. That wasn’t a failure. It was growth. I stepped into something new with a company and a product I truly believe in, trusting myself enough to choose change over comfort. It was uncomfortable. It was uncertain. And it was necessary.

Somewhere along the way—between travel, work, reflection, new habits, and hard choices—I found the best version of myself. Not a perfect one. Not a finished one. But one I can love for the first time in my life. One that’s honest, grounded, and finally at peace with becoming.

Looking back, 2025 was one of the most reflective and enlightening years of my life. It gave me clarity. It gave me perspective. It gave me people, places, and practices that reshaped how I see the world and myself within it.

This year didn’t just happen to me.

It changed me.