What I Learned From My Career Day Disaster

I could not walk out of the elementary school fast enough. I had volunteered for Career Day and was excited to share about being a photographer. And then as we got closer to the actual day, I started panicking about what to talk about.

I have a history of traumatic public speaking incidents, from that time in college when I was peppered with questions about a subject I was supposed to know something about (I did not), to that time in my previous career when I was asked to stop giving the annual facilities presentation to the RAs because of an HR-level oops. (I tried too hard to make my presentation fun and entertaining after being told I was boring. That incident will haunt me for the next 50 years.)

All of that history crept up on me as I stood in front of a group of 1st graders with five minutes of presentation material and thirty minutes of time to fill. And then again, as I stood in front of a group of 3rd graders with ten minutes of material (I learned a little bit the first time) and thirty minutes to fill. Turns out, “winging it” isn’t a great preparation model.

My Career Day appearances felt like a real disaster, and my brain spiraled as I made my way home and had plenty of time to overthink it. I had no actual feedback from the students or their teachers, other than the polite “thaaaaannnnnk yooouuuuuuu” they sing-songed to me as I left the classroom.

I spiral the same way after I send a gallery out to clients, by the way. Did I do enough? Did I help them tell their family's story? Do they like the photos? DID I MAKE A DIFFERENCE?

(I'd love to know if the photos we've made together have made a difference in your life, btw. Just please don't tell me working with me was boring. I tend to overcorrect.)

Anyway, then something unexpected happened. A few days after the Career Day fiasco, I scrolled through the school's weekly newsletter, where it summarized the Career Day happenings, and I saw this:

That's me, holding a slowly-developing Polaroid in front of a group of clamoring six year olds (in the path of a projector, hence the weird David Bowie lightning bolt on my face). And suddenly, I remembered a whole part of the experience that I had obviously forgotten. The kids' wonder and glee at seeing themselves in a photo. Their excitement and awe at watching the film pop out of the camera and then the extra-slow gratification of seeing the photo come into focus. 

The woman who took my picture from the hallway at that moment has no idea that she completely changed my outlook of Career Day with that one photo. The power of a single photo to remind you of a feeling that got swallowed in the haze of the moment. To point out that you're not doing everything wrong, that there were good parts of that experience, even if you didn't realize it at the time. 

Sometimes you have to see yourself in a photo to recognize that what you're doing is important, and that you actually are making a difference. Whether that's at Career Day with a class full of kids, or just in your day to day with your own family.

That’s my aim, when we make photos together. From a simple morning routine family photo session, to a newborn session that acts as a celebration of your family, or the anticipation that hangs in a maternity session, I want you to see yourself in the photos so you get a chance to recognize that what you’re doing is important. That raising a family is important, and meaningful, and beautiful, in the simple ways you manage to make it through the day. Even (especially!) when it feels like a disaster.