You'd think after years of doing this, it would get easier. Spoiler: it doesn't.
Every time. Every single time. The night before a shoot I lie there thinking — what if the photos don't turn out the way I imagined? What if we don't click? What if the light disappears behind a cloud at exactly the wrong moment and stays there? What if my camera decides today is a great day to have an existential crisis?
I used to think this was a problem. Something to fix. A sign that maybe I wasn't cut out for this.
Then I realized: the nerves aren't fear. They're proof that I care.
Because here's the thing — you're trusting me with something kind of vulnerable. You're showing up, probably a little uncomfortable, maybe having changed your outfit three times, hoping that somehow I'll see something in you that you can't always see yourself. That's not nothing. That's actually everything.
So yes, I worry. I worry because your photos matter to me before we've even met. I worry because "good enough" has never felt good enough. I worry because every person is different and every shoot is a small mystery I'm trying to solve with light and timing and conversation.
And then we meet. And we talk. And at some point the weather does whatever it wants, something unexpected happens, and the best shot of the day comes from exactly that moment.
The nerves don't go away. I just learned they're on my side.
