What’s It All For? Finding Meaning Beyond the Grind

Every now and then, I find myself parked at some quiet coastal spot, staring out to the endless horizon. It’s just me, my camera, and the rhythm of the waves. These moments feel simple, even small, but they’ve taught me more about life than any job or paycheck ever could.

This question hit me hard a few years ago when my world fell apart. I lost a 15-year business I’d poured everything into, along with the life I’d imagined for myself and my kids. Suddenly, the grind—the constant chasing—came to an abrupt stop. At first, it felt like failure. But then something unexpected happened: the quiet showed me things I’d been too busy to see.

Photography has always been my passion, something I did when I had the time. Ironically, I rarely made the time. There was always another deadline, another fire to put out. But living the Vanlife forced me to strip my life down to the essentials. My camera became more than a tool—it became a way of reconnecting with the world around me and, honestly, with myself.

When I look through the lens now, I’m not just chasing a perfect shot; I’m chasing stories. People on the beach looking at the waves. A surfer paddling out towards a sunset. The untamed beauty of Northern California’s rugged coastline. Every photo reminds me to stop and see.

For a long time, I thought the answer to life’s struggles was just to work harder. More hours, more effort, more hustle. But living this way taught me something humbling: there’s no end to the chase if you don’t decide to stop running.

Now, I try to split my days between capturing the world through my lens and sharing what I’ve learned, if there is an open ear that wants to hear it ; ).

We’re all dying. I don’t say that to be bleak, but to remind myself—and maybe you too—that time is the one thing we can’t buy back. Every second spent glued to our phones, grinding for a future we might not even want, is a second we lose forever.

If there’s one thing photography has taught me, it’s that every moment is fleeting. The perfect light only lasts for a few minutes. A wave crashes, and it’s gone. Life is the same way—it’s always moving, always shifting, and we only get one chance to capture it.

But here’s the thing: you don’t need a camera to start living. It’s not about quitting your job or abandoning your responsibilities. It’s about choosing to see. To notice the laughter of your kids, the way the sun feels on your face, or even the quiet satisfaction of a good cup of coffee.

Living isn’t something we have to earn. It’s something we can decide to do right now.

I don’t have all the answers. Most days, I’m just trying to figure it out—how to be a better dad, a better partner, a better photographer, and a better person. But if there’s one thing I know, it’s that the grind doesn’t define us. The living does.

Try asking yourself: What am I chasing? Am I living a life that matters to me? And if not, what’s one small step I can take today to change that?

For me, it’s sharing my journey through the images I capture, the lessons I’m learning along the way, and this blog. Maybe for you, it’s something entirely different. But whatever it is, start. The light won’t wait forever.