Little Hands, Big Nut

I just met with one of my good friends and fellow photographer I have mentored for a few years.  A wonderful conversation that made me remember all too well the feeling of having had my first show - so successful, the praise, the compliments, the feeling of being accepted for what and how I see things... and then... the paralyzing fear of never being able to do it again, the doubts about any possible talent I might actually have, the "knowing" that these were just my friends and they were being kind, saying their encouraging, kind words, in a kind voice, so I wouldn't know what they were really thinking about my work.  Oh God, do I remember all those emotions.  Like her, I stopped taking pictures for months, I was a fraud, someone who just fooled everyone into making them believe I was a photographer.  I made excuses not to carry my camera around, too heavy, too cumbersome, didn't go with my outfit or fit in my bag.  I bought more camera bags, maybe having a choice in size and color would make me carry it again.  Nope.  So I bought a point and shoot.  And I kept on "forgetting" it at home, or it wasn't good enough to take a real picture anyway, so it would never see the light of day.
I was scared.  The kind of fear that comes from understanding that success had implications beyond my control.  Would Real People, not my friends, like my next series?  Would the reviews be kind?  Could I even take a better picture?  As time went on, I started to question whether I could even take a picture at all.  I told myself that since I hadn't been practicing, I probably forgot how to use a camera anyway and I wasn't going to put myself through learning something all over again.
I put up obstacles, I believed my inner dialogue, I convinced myself that I was done.  I kept on "seeing shots" everywhere I looked, but didn't take a single one.
And then one morning I woke up, a crisp, Fall morning - a gentle tapping on the window, another, and another... I carefully opened the curtain to see a squirrel, trying to crack open his nutty breakfast on the flower bed, so intent he was in his efforts that he didn't even acknowledge me.  Little hands, big nut.  I instinctively picked up my camera, checked the settings, and took a picture right at the same time he successfully revealed the golden treasure, and took his first bite.  There was bliss in this squirrel's face.  I think he was actually smiling.  And when I realized I had my trusty camera in my hand and I was doing what I loved more than anything in the world, there was bliss on my face and a smile that would never be dimmed by any fear of success, any judgment, any perceived failure.  And, many years later, I'm still smiling.

Shoot for Joy, for yourself, for the love of it... and you can find it on a clear, crisp, Fall morning...