Look, we all want to be known for our skills — sharp edits, great lighting, posing magic, maybe even the ability to get a toddler to look directly at the camera (a miracle in itself). But one thing I’ve found just as important — maybe even more important — is integrity.

Yep. That old-fashioned, Boy Scout, do-the-right-thing-when-no-one’s-watching stuff.

It’s a nice thought — settling in, putting down roots, finding your “forever spot.” But here’s the deal: trees are built to stay still. We aren’t.

We’ve got legs for a reason. Movement. Growth. Mobility.
We’re not meant to just exist — we’re meant to evolve — Grow, mature, develop, and progress.

Let me take you back to January 3rd, 2020. I was sitting at 332 pounds, comfortably winded from walking up stairs, and less-than-thrilled with the direction things were headed. So, I did something hard. I started counting calories and working out.

Let me say something that might ruffle a few feathers:

Not everyone in your field is your competition.

But if you’ve ever asked yourself, “Is it weird to hire a male photographer?” or “Can a guy really capture sweet, emotional, Pinterest-worthy moments?” — allow me to answer:

Nope, it’s not weird.
And, yes, a dude can capture the sweet and emotional moments.
And I’ve got jokes and dad reflexes to prove it.

I remember the first time I intentionally slid up to the 12th fret and thought, “Oh. This is where the grownups hang out.” Suddenly, new melodies, voicings, and textures started opening up. It wasn’t about abandoning the cowboy chords — it was about adding to the repertoire.

Same thing happened with my camera.

Manual mode used to feel like overkill. “Why would I need all this control when aperture priority does the job just fine?” But then I picked up a flash. Then I started adjusting ISO and shutter speed on the fly. Then I began shaping light, instead of just receiving it.

And that’s when the magic happened. The gear didn’t change — I did.

There’s something about being up and moving while the rest of the world is still wiping the crusties out of its eyes. The air is calm. The light is soft. And for those first 10 minutes (before I start bargaining with God to send a golf cart), everything feels possible. The days I run are the days I feel energized, clear, and oddly proud — like I already won a tiny victory before the sun even finished clocking in.

I read a short article a few months ago — one of those quick little internet detours we all take — and it’s been bouncing around in my brain ever since. The core idea was simple: be a radiator, not a drain.

That stuck with me.

In every room we walk into, every interaction we have — whether it’s with a client, a coworker, a family member, or someone from church — we’re doing one of two things. We’re either adding warmth to the space or we’re pulling something out of it. We’re radiating or we’re draining.

Let’s just say it out loud: getting ready for family pictures is rarely anyone’s idea of a good time.

Sure, the final product? Gorgeous. Magical. Frame-worthy. You’ll cry when you see them. You'll share them on Facebook with a caption like, “So blessed. What a beautiful crew.” And you are blessed. But you’re also exhausted, because before that perfect sunset smile came a whirlwind of chaos, questionable snack choices, and one particularly unfortunate chocolate Pop-Tart incident in the carseat. (Looking at you, Scarlett.)

Empire is hosting a playoff game. Let that sink in for a second.

For those of us who wore that same jersey years ago, it’s hard not to feel a little lump in the throat saying that out loud. It’s an intense feeling of pride for this small school atop the Hill in rural Stephens County, Oklahoma. Back then, we dreamed of moments like this — Friday nights that stretched deep into November, the air crisp and electric, the stands full, the lights cutting through the cool, dark night. Truth be told, we didn’t get to sniff the kind of success this generation of Bulldogs has earned. But man, it sure feels good to see it happening right here, right now, on the Hill.