TRIGGER WARNING: I openly discuss my depression and two suicide attempts, but I do so as as part of my discussion of my photographic journey
to balance and growth.
to gratitude.
to feeling part of the whole.

In March, 2012, I bought a used Nikon D50 from a friend. It was my third time taking up “photography.” The first two times I thought I could just pick up any old Single Lens Reflex camera and be a “photographer.” Back then, because I never really got into learning about the art and technology of photography, I eventually tired of taking photos that I did not like. Well, this time, I am learning about the craft, getting involved in conversations with other photographers, participating in a community of photographers. Now, because of my involvement, after almost six years, I am still in love with photography and still wanting to learn more, to immerse myself deeper in the art and the community. As part of my ongoing artistic growth, I take lots and lots of photos. Of lots and lots of stuff. I still do. But this is not about my photography. This essay is about my human connections via photography, human connections that are now part of my forever balancing.

When I first got my D50, I took photos of flowers and plants, then started taking photos of buildings, then landscapes. Pictures of people? Not so much. That terrified me, though every so often I did take photos of people, especially people I know. Seriously thinking about it now, I see that my resistance to photographing people, my resistance to connecting with people via photography, was really about my resistance to connecting with myself.

Deep, huh? But just like Toni Childs, one of the characters from one of my favorite TV series, Girlfriends, said:
“Just because I have superficial values doesn’t mean I’m not deep.”

In a broader, spiritual sense, for me, a big part of learning about myself is seeing myself in others, like I see myself in the photo above, which I posted about in my Tumblr, with a short essay about why the young woman on the right reflects me back to myself. Not that I believe that I captured her “soul” or her “essence,” but I think I captured her momentarily being playfully antisocial. While I was taking their photo, the young woman on the right mirrored a small part of me. That same “Really? You’re taking a picture of me?” attitude she so brilliantly and humorously embodied is exactly how I feel when anyone aims a camera at me. Granted, I learned to be gracious and pleasant and not act a fool when someone is taking a picture of me. (Most of the time.) However, I am known, among my family and some friends, for giving the camera the finger when it focuses on me. It is a family joke, and I relish playing it out, captured for posterity. Behaving properly in front of the camera is just not that much fun, at least for me.

Both of the photos below were taken by family members at family gatherings. 

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Although the young woman on the right in my photo from SF Carnaval did not share as succinct a physical manifestation of her feelings as I did in the photos above, I kinda see “the finger” in her attitude. I see myself in her at that moment.

So you get to see I can behave in front of the camera, here is one of my selfies from my trip to Germany.

That is the fun, exciting essence of the creative process of photography, at least for me: I never know what I am gonna get. And that not-knowing is cool, because at times I discover interesting aspects of some pictures I took after I examine them. Every so often, while editing and processing my photographs, I see more of what I captured after I go through and really look at the images, taking my time with them, looking at the same one over and over again, for a bit of time, not just glancing at it and moving on. That is how I discovered a piece of myself in the young woman on the right. After processing the photo, including converting it to black and white, while I was posting it on Tumblr, I eventually saw myself in her. I connected with her after the fact, after the moment passed, but I connected.

For me, that connection is monumental. And it does not matter that it was way after I took the photos.

See, I live with depression, anxiety, self-destructive and suicidal tendencies, all of which lead me to want to isolate myself out of
fear of others,
fear of
fear of just fear, really, just a numbing, unfeeling, “I don’t give a fuck” fear of everything. But a few years ago, thanks to Louise Hay’s teachings, I realized my life draining fear is really my way of trying to protect myself. Hiding from life is my way of keeping myself safe. In fact, it is often the only way I see to protect myself: Become physically and, especially, emotionally inert. Do nothing. Die slowly. Fade away.

Yes, I tried taking medication to alleviate my depression. Hell, I even celebrated my first Prozac by taking myself on a lunch date to an expensive sushi place here in Davis, but the meds (I tried two different kinds) made me feel worst. Yet, along the way, I learned that what balances me, what keeps me afloat, indeed, what helps me survive so I can thrive, is my spiritual core, my sense of something and everything beyond me that is also an essential part of me. And no, I am not suggesting others follow me into a meds-free emotional healing. If you need the depression meds and they do not harm you, please, follow that route to healing your mind and soul. We all are different and have different paths to healing. We all take different paths to achieve balance.

For me, what also sometimes keeps me alive is my sense of pragmatism and, I realize now, a sense that I should step back and trust life, too. When I was about 5/6 years old, I recall being very upset about my parents’ punishing me for something I cannot recall now. We were all supposed to be sleeping, taking naps. (This was Cuba in the late 50s, after all, and though my family was working class, we took siestas, too.) I got out of bed, went to the kitchen and pushed a chair or stool in front of the sink. I stood on it, grabbed (what I remember as) a large and sharp knife, and thought about stabbing myself in the stomach to kill myself. Then, however, I started getting logical. (Don’t you just hate when that happens?) I thought, “When I stab myself, it will hurt. My parents will hear me crying, will wake up, and take me to the doctor. The doctor will cure me. I will come back, alive.” Then I put everything back and, well, I do not remember anything else, but I do know my desire to die would bubble to the surface every so often. Indeed, through my teen years I often wrote about it in my diary, though I often ended my entries with the assertion, “There has got to be a reason for me to be here.”

Oh, and just in case you did not pick up on it, I also do have a sense of humor about all this. It helps me to laugh at myself and to not spiral into the vortex of fear and withdrawn self-preservation. See, humor helps me understand, helps me take time to fully appreciate the moment I lived or am living now, whereas fear is just an unthinking shrinking into myself. Humor helps me see the humanity in me and my actions, my challenges, because I see them as shared and understood via others’ stories, too. My sense of humor is part of the whole connection thing. See? Or do I mean “¿Sí?“

Then there was the time I was around 37 years old, when I completely lost my balance, my sense of humor, and all sense of hope, when I lost all desire to live. The only option I felt I had was death. I was tired and saw no relief in sight, so I committed suicide, again being very logical, planning the process, which was going to look like an accident. I secretly said goodbye to everyone I love. I went through with my suicide (there are more details, but maybe some other time), but after over a day of being unconscious I woke up, truly a hot mess. I recall thinking, “Coño, estoy vivo. I am alive.” There were several ramifications from my suicide, including losing my job, going broke, and having to move back in with my mom. But I am still here. Honestly, I eventually realized the whole thing was a blessing. I am now convinced of it. See, after I thought, “Coño, estoy vivo. I am alive,” I thought: “Well, I messed up, so it is time to try living again. I think this whole fuck-up is trying to tell me something.” And I went back to living.

A good friend of mine, Alberto, thinks I am very good at reinventing myself, that my history reveals changes in career and personal interests that shape my perpetually morphing self, which evolves as I follow life’s suggestions about who I am at different times. Now I also see that I am a combination of often overlapping and/or competing gregariousness, awkward lack of unawareness of reality, spiritual calm, curiosity about life, and/or self-destructive depression. And now in this stage of my emotional self-invention, life is guiding me to accept that combination of “who I am.” At present, the parts of me driven by fear, the parts of me that try ferociously to protect me by shutting me down and isolating me are beginning to understand that I am okay, that there is nothing to be afraid of. And they seem to be okay with this arrangement, although every so often they act up and want to take over. And I understand their wanting to get back to the way things were, since they see the results of my increasing freedom from the old shame about who I am as their decreasing power over my life. I understand their fear of losing their grip over me because I am more certain about who I am, since I am less and less attached to notions about “who I am supposed to be.” And, by the way, depression was almost always central during my many life-cycles, even when I was outwardly at my happiest. And that is the key to all this: I was outwardly happy, but inside, when I was alone? Well, you get it.

Now I see that I do tend to go along and live out what life presents me and what interests me, even if many do not quite understand why, even if I do not fit the preconceived notions of what someone like me should be. My getting my PhD at the age of 63, after 16 years as a grad student, is a perfect example. (Yes, I am old. I love it. I mean, come on. I never thought I would live past the age of 35, so being this old, and still exploring and learning, is way cool.) And now, my becoming a photographer, and doing it my way, is just another facet of my diverse, unpredictable life.

A couple of years after I started taking photography seriously, I took more photos of people, accepting my terror of it while also accepting that capturing images of people felt right for me. I am glad I captured moments with family and friends, moments of strangers’ humanity, too.

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For the photos above, at times I captured the images while my subjects were aware I was taking their photo, and at times I caught them in candid moments. Yes, I too am enamored with the whole “street photography” thing of creating photographs of people who are unaware of my using them for my art. And yes, I think this is a valid practice. Even though I think street photography is often an invasion of privacy, I also think it can be respectful of the people who are integral to the photographer’s vision. However, I am increasingly more sensitive to who I photograph and how I capture their image. If I think there is anything embarrassing about the image, I will not share it. Granted, although I have often practiced this, a couple of time I shared images of people I would not post today. Then there was the whole incident of my posting some embarrassing photos (nothing dirty or offensive or terribly demeaning, but still) of someone who I met after I photographed them and told them I would not share the images. I did, though, as a part of a post about why I do not share such images. Well, this is a story for another time, but I removed the post and everything turned out beautifully. I will only add that it is very much a small world. Boys and girls, this is a story for another time.

Then there was this guy.

This was at the California State Fair. I went with a good friend of mine and her daughter, who is also my godchild. We came upon this one exhibit, with these two superhero guys posing with visitors. Kitschy as all get out, I wanted to capture Ironman and Captain America in a moment of rest. A personal moment of respite from all the “fun.” I waited for it, watching as all of a sudden no one was in line and they could relax. I put my camera to my face, pressed the shutter. Then this guy noticed me and went into superhero mode, giving me the finger. OK, he did not give me that finger, but he pretty much messed up my desired shot. I reacted by putting my camera down and telling him, “Dude, you messed up my shot. I wanted to catch you relaxing.” Well, he laughed, and I did too, and sure enough, just as I was gonna take another photo of him, some people stepped up to pose with them. I knew it was over. Yes, I coulda gone back, but I felt that would have been a tad too stalker. And looking at the photo afterward, even now, I love the moment of superhero bravura he shared with me. I see humor and humanity in his expression, in his eyes. He was having fun, and I captured just and only that. Damned magic, if you ask me.

Eventually, I started to appreciate those moments of human connection and so started to ask for permission to take people’s photo. Sometimes I simply smile and gesture with the camera, sometimes I ask, sometimes I ask and give the reason why I want to take their picture.

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At first I was terrified, though I did capture some great moments of connecting with others. Many of these may not be “art” or great photography, but the photos I share here are a sampling of connections that were often quick, but they were memorable to me because they guided me further into the very core of love and balance we all share. While writing this, I look at these photos and I see human beauty, human kindness, a sense of humor and humanity that I am learning to appreciate as reflections of who I am, the forever balancing me who is also the forever balancing us. 

“Just because I have superficial values doesn’t mean I’m not deep.”

And photography increasingly helps me to connect with others, to constantly remind me I am part of humanity and the universal all. In my time on Tumblr, over 6 years now, I started to meet other photographers and I joined in a generous community of people who love photography and also love each other as people, in as broadly different ways of expressing their feelings as there is in life. During this time, I have made great friends via technologically generated ways of connecting, such as messaging and IRL conversation. We share photos, but we also share artistic doubt, frustration, and joy. We also often share personal doubt, frustration, and joy. I often share posts about my ongoing bouts of depression and have written about my suicidal tendencies. The great thing is that our Tumblr original photographer community reassures me I am not alone, since many others in our community also share their own experiences of personal turmoil, sometimes publicly, sometimes privately. Sometimes it is just a quick “How are you doing?” private exchange between two of us, but every contact, every connection makes me feel more part of us all, assures me I am not alone.

Now, the cool thing about my time on Tumblr is that I also had the chance to, so far, meet 6 fellow Tumblr photographers. On a trip to LA in 2014, when I turned 60, I met Mike and Sam. I was blown away by how easy it was to talk, feeling excited about meeting them IRL, but also feeling like I knew them for many years. Later that year I met Guido, who came to SF with his now husband, Steffan. I spent time with both in SF the first day they arrived and later I spent the day with them in Davis and Sacramento, including lunch at Sol Cubano, a local Cuban restaurant in Sacramento. They later invited me to visit them in Frankfurt any time, and I did the following year, 2015. (I took my Muppet family selfie in their guest bathroom.) The time we spent together and the time I spent alone were all amazing, enriching, fun. I had such a wonderful time that I am going back to Germany this fall, 2018. I plan to spend time with Guido and Steffan again, too, and also meet up with at least e more other Tumblr photographer friends.

Then in the fall of 2014 I met Jules (who is British but lives in CA) IRL, too. Talk about coincidence. I posted photos of the newly finished UC Davis Tercero Student Housing on Tumblr, and Jules messaged me that her daughter, Laura, was going to attend UC Davis Fall 2014 and she was going to move into Tercero. I was so happy to hear this, in part because I volunteer every year for tech support for incoming first year students and coincidentally I was assigned to be at Tercero. We met up and I was introduced to Laura, and William. William is Laura’s brother/Jules’s son. We had lunch. I see Laura every so often (and let mom Jules know Laura is fine) and I was able to got together with Jules, Laura, and William last year, 2017, for Mother’s Day, which was also my birthday. Had a wonderful time among the plants and the hummingbirds. And good grief, Laura is graduating this year…

Then, last year, in August I met up with Janet and her husband, Jonathan, who were in SF for a few days on their way to Canada. We spent most of a Sunday sightseeing and eating and talking and taking photos. They are lovely people. And again, while I was excited to meet them I also felt a comfortable familiarity with Janet. And BTW, they are from New Zealand. The international reach provided by the Internet still blows my mind.

Finally, this month (March, 2018) I met up with Kris and her husband Joe. I have known Kris on Tumblr for about 4 years. She was one of our guests on the monthly-ish photography broadcast I do with Pete (who I am meeting up with in Germany in October). We went to the March for Our Lives in LA and then had a great, late, vegan lunch.

And, as I like to call it, my adventure continues. As part of my forever balancing, of my becoming more familiar with the oneness of us all, modern technology allows me to keep in touch with family and friends, with my kids (former students) and classmates. And, of course, I keep photographing people and keep traveling every so often. And meeting people, making connections. I am not certain where it will lead, except I am certain it will lead to great serenity. 

I find love, I find serenity, I find balance in my many, varied contacts with people, and not just via my photography, but in all the ways we connect, all the ways we share ourselves, even if it is just in saying “Hello” to a stranger. And for me, one of the tenderest and most exciting ways of saying “Hello” is to share a photographic moment of human contact. In saying “Hello” to others I say “Hello” to myself.

The adventure continues.