I can’t stop being me..

Being alone isn’t a season in my life. It’s been the background music since the beginning.

I was an only child. Solitude wasn’t new—it was the norm. It wrapped around me through childhood and stayed through adulthood, a quiet companion I never chose but always knew. That same solitude is what quietly guided me toward photography.

It became my outlet. My way of expressing a voice I didn’t always get to use with people. My parents were always supportive, but not in the way that comes with words. They didn’t say they were proud—not directly. I only found out after my mom passed how much she believed in what I was doing. It hurt—beautifully and painfully—to learn that pride secondhand. My dad’s the same. He doesn’t tell me, but I’ve heard him tell others. It’s a strange comfort, and yet not quite enough.

I’ve always been the person others come to in their darkest moments. The one who listens. The one who helps fix things—heartbreaks, crises, directionless careers. I’ve built websites, helped grow social media accounts, mentored new photographers, lent money, encouraged dreams. And the pattern is nearly always the same: they heal, and then they go.

Most friendships and relationships I’ve had were tied to what I could do or give—not to who I am. And when I had nothing more to offer, they quietly disappeared.

That kind of repeated abandonment changes you.

Photography was first about people—concerts, music, bands, egos, the chaos of backstage. But I always felt out of place in that world. Like I had snuck into a party that wasn’t meant for me. Then I stepped into Yosemite… and later, the Grand Tetons. Everything shifted.

In the stillness of those towering peaks and endless skies, I didn’t feel small—I felt seen.

Nature didn’t want anything from me. It let me just be. It gave me space to exhale. In those silent, sacred spaces, my photography changed. It became more than an art—it became my voice, my way of showing the world what I couldn’t always say aloud.

And then… there were wolves.

I don’t know exactly when the connection formed. But somewhere along the way, I realized: I see myself in them. Not just the image of the lone wolf, but the spirit of it—the watchful eyes, the deep loyalty, the quiet distance. The way they’re misunderstood, romanticized, and often feared—but never truly known.

That’s me. That’s always been me.

I’m always the one reaching out first.

The one sending the “Hey, how’ve you been?” texts that rarely get a reply.

The one who gets left on read.

And yeah—sometimes, when I finally get to talk to someone, I get chatty. Not because I want to overwhelm anyone, but because that moment of connection is rare. I don’t talk to many people. So when I do, I try to make it matter. If you’ve ever felt me talking too much, I promise—it came from a place of loneliness and a place that is real, not selfishness. And for that, I’ll always apologize.

The people I try to befriend… it’s not random. It’s never casual. If I’ve reached out to you, tried to form a connection, it’s because I saw something in you—something real. I’m guarded. Very. That’s not bitterness; it’s self-preservation. I’ve been used, hurt, lied to, stolen from, and left alone more times than I can count.

So if I choose to trust you—it means something.

If I let you in, it’s because I believe you’re different, I have a deep respect for you.

And if you’re in my circle, you’re one of the very few.

I’m introverted. But fiercely loyal. Quiet, but protective. And I will go above and beyond for the people I let into my life. I will support you endlessly,  Not because I expect something back—but because I don’t know how to be any other way.

Through every wound, every goodbye, every betrayal—I refuse to stop being me.

Sometimes I hide behind humor. Sometimes I come off a little rough around the edges.

That’s just armor.

Beneath it, I carry my parents in me. Their values. Their love. Their quiet way of being there. Their loyalty .

And just like them, I’ll always show up for you, even if I never say it out loud.

I’ll support you. I’ll fight for you. I’ll believe in you when you don’t believe in yourself.

Because I can’t stop being me.

And honestly… I wouldn’t want to.