Dealing with disappointment
Summary
I’m a nature photographer who earns his living from tech. Sometimes I win. Often, I lose. Photography has taught be to be even-keeled in the face of disappointment.
When I introduce myself as a nature photographer, some people ask to see my work. Since most people aren’t skilful photographers, they rate my photos more kindly than I would. They often ask what I do with my photos.
Do I sell them?
The implication is that I could be rich, selling photos.
Why don’t I enter my photos in contests?
They believe I’ll win loads of prizes.
And the best of them all – why am I not on social media?
Wouldn’t I love myself an adoring fan following?
The thing is, I have no utilitarian reason to be an outdoor photographer.
Cogito, ergo sum. I think, therefore I am.
Imago, ergo sum. I photograph, therefore I am.
Experiencing the natural world with a camera makes me feel whole. Even if I were half as good as my well-wishers think I am, I wouldn’t want to tarnish that feeling with money, competition, or a quest for validation. I am grateful, however, for how highly they think of my work.
My last two big photography expeditions have ended in the worst way I could have imagined. A few months back, I left two-thirds of my trip to the Kgalagadi incomplete and returned to my family after my dad passed away. This month, I had plans to be up in the Himalayan high-altitude deserts, looking for snow leopards. My adventure ended before I even got there. My daughter broke her knee enroute, and I had to return while the rest of my travel companions continued their ascent. To say I’m disappointed would be a gross understatement. Each time, I’ve returned absolutely deflated and crushed.
But maybe that’s one of the functions of photography in my life. It teaches me to deal with disappointment. Trip cancellations and curtailments are probably the most extreme versions of such disappointment, but nature photography is, on average, a pursuit laden with disappointment. Sometimes the weather doesn’t cooperate. Other times, the animal won’t show. You can wait hours without payoff. Often, your gear will act up as you brave extreme heat, cold, snow or rain. You can travel thousands of miles away from home, anticipating a certain event at a certain time of the year, only to learn that climate change is putting paid to your plans. And even when everything’s perfect, maybe your skills aren’t up to the occasion.
I think of nature photography as an act of benign masochism – what doesn’t kill us, makes us stronger. For me, wins and losses have become two sides of the same coin, and I've learned to value both. Each time I return defeated from a photography session, I steel myself for the next session. I reflect on what I can do differently, or how I can make the most of what nature’s throwing at me. Even as I sit here at home, with no way to go back to the Himalayas and photograph snow leopards, I’d like to think the disappointment is making me stronger.
I’ve always advocated for an identity broader than the one work affords us. I’ll always be a nature photographer who earns his living from tech. Photography affords me experiences and teaches me lessons I may never gain from my profession. I’m still gutted to be sitting here in Pune, typing a blogpost, when I could have been up in the mountains, sat by a fire, planning my next day in the field. When I could have been out there, photographing some magnificent creatures, instead of trying to experience the trip vicariously through my wife and son, and failing in the act. But all things considered, for the fact that it makes me a more patient and resilient individual, I remain grateful that I found this hobby.