Vocation/Obsession

At an age when every other sentence seems to begin with "I remember when..." I will thus, with much embarrassment, begin this entry with: I remember when photography was competing with sex for my attention. All day-every day-thinking about photography (and sex).

I didn't just think about photography, I thought of myself as a photographer.  Photography was literally identical to my identity. I dreamed about pictures. I read about photography and photographers. And I shot every day and I went to bed (to dream about photography) with a camera beside my bed.

One snowy night walking home from my job at a camera store, I remember stopping and looking up at the dizzy blizzard ringing a street lamp and making a wish.  I wish I could someday make a living taking pictures. I gripped the little 1935 Leica rangefinder camera in my overcoat pocket and squeezed it for luck.

My wish came true.

But...

I should have been more careful in how I phrased my wish.  I should have wished to be able to make a GOOD living taking pictures.