There’s a quiet kind of therapy in photography that no one really talks about. These days, it’s not my job to shoot; it’s my escape. I used to make a living as a professional sports photographer; tight deadlines, intense action and the pressure to deliver under stadium lights.
Now, with that part of my life behind me, photography has taken on a new rhythm. It’s become something slower, more reflective. There’s nothing quite like grabbing a camera, heading out of the door and seeing where the day takes you.
It’s not about chasing the perfect shot any more – it’s about being present, observing the light and capturing the world as it unfolds.
Photowalks have become my way to reset. Whether it's a stroll through quiet woodland, a backstreet in an unfamiliar town or just a loop around the local park, the camera gives purpose to the walk. You begin to see things differently.
The mundane becomes interesting when you look through a lens – the way the light catches on a brick wall, a glance exchanged between strangers, the texture of a rain-soaked bench. These moments slow the world down. It’s not performative, it’s not for likes or followers – it’s for me.
Photography, at its core, is often seen as art, but for many of us it's also a deeply personal hobby. It's a space where there’s no right or wrong, just you and the frame. There's relief in that. You don’t need a client’s approval or a commission to justify your work.
There’s real value in picking up a camera and creating simply because you want to. That freedom – to shoot what you love, how you feel, without an audience – is where the joy lives.
Since stepping away from the commercial side of the craft, I’ve rediscovered what made me fall in love with photography in the first place. It’s no longer tied to a calendar or a contract.
It can happen at dawn or halfway through an afternoon when the sun breaks through grey skies. Sometimes it’s just five minutes in the garden, or an hour lost down a quiet lane. It’s spontaneous, unstructured, and all the better for it.
We all, at some point, dream of being professionals. But there’s something deeply fulfilling about working on our own projects – personal explorations that don’t need validation.
Shooting for yourself brings a kind of honesty to the frame that you can’t manufacture. Photography has become my way of processing the world, expressing how I feel and reconnecting with the moment. And in that quiet act of seeing and clicking the shutter, I find peace.
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