Week 9

I've stumbled upon what I want to do for the rest of my life, and I must say that it's a terrifying and relieving thing.
It wasn't something I even realized what was happening. It started when I was a kid. I obsessed over buying cheap disposable cameras from Walmart. I'd save up my money and buy a little 24 shot camera and I'd take pictures of everything I thought looked interesting - everything I thought I would like to see pictures of. I loved getting them developed and then sifting through the pictures - it did something to my heart; it made it beat faster, feel more alive. Now I spend every day dreaming, thinking about being behind my camera. I explore through the woods and just keep my eyes peeled. For me, it's a passion. It's what I need to get through my day. Writing is also like that for me; but being as busy as I am most of the time, photography is easier then sitting down and writing.
The dreams give me an escape from reality. A place I can go where, for once in my life, things go according to plan. Where things work out.
But what if it were to come true? What if photography is something I could make a career out of?

If you were to visit the Bangor Public Library right  now until the last day of May, you'd be able to see 29 of my pictures hanging on their walls. The local newspaper back home published a piece about it with a picture of me next to it.
When I graduated high school from a place nicknamed "pill hill", I had dreams of making my mark on the world. I wanted to travel, I wanted adventures. But when the world showed me that it isn't always as beautiful as it seems through the viewfinder on my camera, it felt like everything had been shattered.
But I've done a bit of growing in the past year of my life. Now, I'm just shy of 20, and the very first photography exhibit of my career is hanging in the walls of a library in one of the biggest cities in my state.
I'm hoping that things like this continue to happen.
The ocean gives me hope that it'll happen one day. Sitting on the beach, as I'm laying in the sand to get a good shot, I realize that this is my thing.
In the sand I see someone who does what everyone does. They wrote their name in the sand with a stick.

Sarah was here. 


To me it's clear that every person has a natural urge to put a mark on the world. Writing your name in the sand is a way to do it; although it washes away, for a moment or two, you've changed something. You've left a piece of yourself behind while you move on. The water eventually washes away your name, but at least it was there for a time. Why do you think people write grafitti or carve their initials in tree bark? Obviously humans want to leave something behind even after they're long gone.
I'd like to do that to the world someday. I don't want a statue honoring me. I wouldn't want a holiday in my name. But someday, somehow, I'd like to leave an imprint that wasn't washed away as easily as the waves wash away the markings in the sand.


Nothing feels quite as good as making and creating something with your own hands and then letting the world see it. As I place together old pictures frames I dug up at thrift shops scattered all over the Bangor area, I think about how it feels to know it soon will hang in a spot where others can see it.
Most of people who see my photography are family and friends; they encourage me warmly. But I want some constructive criticism too. I want to know what I'm doing wrong and fix it.
It's easy for me to imagine being a photographer for the rest of my life. I love it so much that it would feel wrong to not do it.
Someday, I'll have a studio, maybe. Even though I deeply prefer being outdoors taking portraits, maybe someday I'll have a studio.
My name on the door, my copyright on the pictures, me behind the camera...
I shake my head. These are silly and dangerous thoughts; ones that have gotten me into trouble before.
I devote so much time and energy into my photography that other aspects of my life suffer. While I'm sitting in class all I can really think about is the ultimate dream for me.
In this month's National Geographic magazine, photographer Holliann Bergin shows us some of the pieces she collected while she explored abandoned castles in Ireland and Scotland...
I know that chances are, it'll never happen for me. A little girl from downeast Maine doesn't exactly get opportunities like that knocking at her door. But I also don't think opportunities like that just knock at your door.
My picture is all in the frame, and to me it looks pretty good. It's the last of my 29 pictures, and my fingers hurt from prying open old picture frames. It took me forever to collect all the frames, and the stress of whether or not my pictures would look good kept me awake all night last night. At least 4 of my frames broke and I had to quickly find new ones; the reception is next week and I'm still unsure of how it's going to go or how many people are going to show up.
But even though it cost more money then I thought it would and it was a lot of stress for me to deal with on my own, I finished it. Tomorrow I hang the last of my pictures, and my exhibit will be there for 2 whole months.
When I crawl into bed I think about how worth it it'll all be to see my pictures int he library. It makes it all a little smoother; it makes the stress go down a little easier. Because I know it's for something I love.
And if no one quit when all the going got tough, they wouldn't have anything to regret for the rest of their life.
I don't want to regret anything.


With my camera around my neck, I climb higher up the mountain even though my legs are so tired, even though I'm sweating so terribly. I know how important this shot would be; I know how beautiful the view will be from the top. So I keep on hiking, even though the African air is killing me.