The other day, I decided to take the bike out for a long ride - probably 10 miles or so - in the middle of a brutal 101° heat wave. Sometimes I get this strong urge to just go - to make new work, even if it's in places I’ve seen before.

On a bike, I feel free. I can cover more ground, slip into places a car can’t go, and take my time. That day, I found myself weaving through the backs of office parks, sketchy side streets, and eventually down to the river - where I swim most days of the week. I laugh to myself at how much ground I ended up covering.

Something’s been sitting in my mind lately; I don’t think being a photographer is just about knowing how to use a camera. Sure, you need to understand the tool - but the real skill might be vision. The ability to spot something worth noticing.

And more importantly - reviewing (or curating) your work later.

That’s where things start to come alive. Sometimes, when you're in the moment, you don’t totally know why you're drawn to a scene. But photography locks that moment in. Later, when you're looking at it again, that’s when it clicks. You learn something about yourself - what you’re naturally drawn to, what moves you, what makes you press the shutter.

I’m still figuring it out. But there’s something about that process - the heat, the motion, the exploration, and the slow discovery of vision - that keeps pulling me in.