How I Learned to Bet on Myself (Even When I Had Nothing)

Something that I have come to realize is life doesn’t stop to make sure you're ready. The past five years have felt like one long set of waves, each one knocking me back just as I was trying to get my footing. Losing a business, a career, and a family—everything I had spent over 15 years building—was like getting caught inside on a heavy day. No breath, no control, just survival mode.

I never planned on starting over. Who does? But when you find yourself with nothing, you have two choices: drown in it or start swimming. I didn’t know where I was headed, but I knew I couldn’t stay where I was. And that’s where betting on myself began—not with confidence, but with necessity.

I remember sitting in my van one night, parked along the coast, camera gear in the back, unsure of what came next. Photography had always been part of my life, but it was never my sole focus. It was my passion, my escape, but now it has become something more. That scares me. Passion is pure until it has to sustain you.

There is no roadmap, no guaranteed income—just me, my gear, and the question: "Can I really make this work?" The self-doubt is often loud. It tells me I am too late, that I have already lost too much, that rebuilding is impossible. But something inside me—the same thing that makes me paddle back out after a wipeout—says, “Try anyway.”

Betting on yourself isn’t about knowing you’ll succeed. It’s about showing up even when you don’t know. It’s about deciding that even if you fail, you’d rather fail trying than not try at all. I’ve failed plenty. I’ve questioned everything. But I’ve also learned that I’m more capable than I ever gave myself credit for.

The ocean doesn’t promise calm waters. It promises movement. And that’s what I’ve learned to trust—the movement, the ability to adjust, the certainty that as long as I keep going, I’m not done yet.

I still don’t have it all figured out. There are days when I wonder if I’m making the right choices, if I should have taken an easier route, if I’ll ever feel like I’ve "made it." But maybe that’s the point—maybe there is no finish line, just a constant evolution.

I’ve learned to be grateful for the wins, no matter how small. A well-timed opportunity, a moment of creative inspiration, a connection that leads to something bigger. But I’m also grateful for the losses. They’ve taught me resilience, forced me to adapt, and reminded me that nothing is guaranteed except the effort I put in.

The road ahead is still uncertain, but I’ve come to embrace that. I don’t need to have it all figured out. I just need to keep showing up, keep learning, and keep betting on myself—because even when I had nothing, that was the one thing I still had control over.

Thank you for your time! I appreciate you : )