When I started regularly taking photos, which was back in the Fall of 2020, I had a recurring fear. I was reminded of it recently while reading Rick Rubin’s The Creative Act, which I’m slowly making my way through and have come to think of as part self-help book and part instruction manual for creatives. Mostly, the book helps me get out of my own way whenever I’m doubting or questioning myself as an artist.
I’m hesitating to state the fear because it seems silly today, especially as I contemplate typing it out here for other people to see.
But it went something like this. If I had a particularly good photo outing that resulted in photos that I liked enough to edit and then share on Instagram, I was afraid I’d never have a good outing again. And not because I thought something bad would happen to me that would prevent me from going out to take photos.
Instead, I was convinced that there would never be such ideal shooting conditions again, or that even if there were, I would be prevented from getting out when they occurred. Or, even if I made it out, I’d somehow screw up the shoot and not get any good photos.
Basically, I was convinced that the good photos I had already taken were the only photos that I’d ever have that were worth anything. This belief made me want to hoard the existing good photos and slowly parse them out via my Instagram feed.
I can blame some of my scarcity thinking on the times we were all living in during late 2020, when the pandemic made some goods and services legitimately scarce. It was nearly impossible to get a doctors or dentist appointment in Provincetown, where I live, and there were days when my corner grocery store–where I did most of my shopping at the time–couldn’t fully open due to staff and food shortages. It was, as we all know, unprecedented.
So some scarcity thinking was normal, perhaps. But I think with my photography something more ingrained was going on. And that was a deep sense of not being good enough–full stop. It had little to do with photography and instead was a mindset that I’d learned and accepted as a permanent fact, years and years ago.
Perhaps it’s just another example of imposter syndrome, which I know everyone has already written about a million times. It’s been written about so much that we’ve now gone full circle and people are starting to question whether it’s really a thing or even a useful or an acurrate framing to consider and discuss.
Regardless of whether imposter syndrome is real or worth discussing, I know that photography tapped something pretty deep in me, making me question my skills, abilities, and value.
And I’ve realized that this is a trend over the course of my life, especially when I’m starting something new (e.g., a job, hobby, relationship) that is particularly meaningful to me. If I want to be good at something, my brain is going to tell me I can’t do it or that I am unable. This message can serve me in two ways. First, by dissuading me from pursuing the new thing that is important (my former therapist would say this is my ego’s way of “keeping me small”; if I don’t pursue the new activity or relationship, there is no chance I’ll fail at it). And second, by pushing me to get better at this new activity or relationship that I care deeply about.
Understanding these conflicting messages is important as I navigate new spaces, interests, and people.
All of this led to another realization: I will always be myself. Meaning, for a whole host of reasons, I often feel that I am not good enough. It is my life’s work to be mindful of that voice and keep it in check–and, ideally, use it for good.
In the case of photography, I’ve welcomed that voice in and I use it to push me to expand in my practice and to keep shooting and producing. And I know it’s made me a better photographer and artist in the process.
As Rubin says:
“In the abundant mindset, the river never runs dry. Ideas are always coming through. And an artist is free to release them with the faith that more will arrive…If we live in the mindset of scarcity, we hoard great ideas…Each mindset evokes a universal rule: whatever we concentrate on, we get.”
I apply many of the lessons of my photography work to my coaching practice. Imposter syndrome (or just this tendency to feel like we are lacking), for example, is nearly universal. Understanding it and its origins is key to taming it and being able to use those gremlins in our brain for good. I know it’s possible, given how I’ve learned to listen to and use my own noisy beasts. And I love to help other people do something similar so they can be honest about their goals and actually live the life they want, rather than just playing small.
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