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Success When You Feel Like a Failure

Maybe it's because I have perfectionist tendencies. Maybe it's because I'm a people-pleaser at heart. Maybe it's because nothing but being #1 is good enough. But I feel like a failure a lot of the time. This is contrary to what others see about me. I am actually pretty accomplished. Not counting this blog (which, to date, has over 150 posts), I have had over 250 distinct articles published from 1-4 times each. I have literally had close to or more than 1,000 photos published. My stories are published in three books.  I have interviewed and/or taken photos of some big names such as Darcy Lynn, America's Got Talent winner; Ginger Duggar Vuolo of 19 Kids and Counting; Michael Jr, headlining comedian; Francine Rivers, best-selling author; and Jon Erwin, producer/director of American Underdog as well as many other high-grossing movies. I've covered major events like the K-Love Fan Awards weekend; major and minor sports leagues; IndyCar and NASCAR; and the 2019 Southe

Floaters (No, Not the Up-In-the-Air Kind)

If you read this blog at all, you know that I'm a photographer and a writer. My eyes are really important to me. Visual acuity is important to me. Not seeing things that aren't there is also important to me. Rewind back to Christmas Eve 2022. I wasn't feeling well (it turns out I had the flu and was in the hotel room all day instead of hanging out with my husband's family for Christmas), but I just thought I was tired at the time. I started seeing flashes of light in my peripheral vision of my left eye. I sometimes have visual migraines so I thought it had to do with that, even though this wasn't what happens to me typically. I took some ibuprofen and tried to rest - and not worry. After a while, when my anxiety started ramping up about what was going on, I did some online research (after all, it was Christmas Eve - no doctors) to make sure it wasn't something I had to deal with immediately. Thankfully, it wasn't.  Then I noticed the floaters. I didn't t

Once Again, I'm Ba-ack!

 If you've read this blog any length of time at all, you know that as much as my desire to be consistent is, my life doesn't allow for much consistency. I'm not saying this as an excuse... it's just the way it is. When you deal with (summarized)... - multiple physical and mental health issues, - getting married at 54 years old to someone who was never married... and only being a little over a year into that marriage, - a grown daughter with multiple physical and mental health issues,  - a struggling freelance business that, though it makes money, never seems to allow me to get ahead, and - living with my elderly parents and helping them out... ... you don't have much left for things that aren't necessary. This time it was almost a three-month-long illness (complications from surgery) that ended with my dad's death. I was at the hospital the vast majority of the days, often getting there around 7am.  At first, I tried to work while I was there. In fact, anyth

How to Interview (if You were Never Trained How)

Journalism was not a field I ever planned to go into. Both my bachelor’s and master’s degrees were in education and when I first decided to try freelancing seven years ago, I planned to use the skills I've honed over the years as a photographer to make a living.  As an avid reader, I did have a secret dream of being a writer, specifically of writing a book one day. But to regularly write articles for newspapers and magazines? That was so far out of my thinking it wasn't even a dream. Note that I have absolutely no training. I didn’t minor in journalism. I didn’t even take a journalism class. For that matter, I took the most basic English class I could as I was planning to be a math and/or physics major. It was a "God-thing" that I started writing professionally. Working as a photographer led to a chance to write a series of articles. That led to writing more. But before you decide that this post isn’t worth your time and you leave to read another post from someone who

When Hopes and Dreams Attach to Things

I'm embarrassed even as I write this.  Backstory... My husband recently joined my freelancing business. It's something we had planned to do "one day" but not right now.  An unexpected job loss and a little too much work for me to handle it on my own pushed us to try to make this work. It's not like we were living in the lap of luxury. Together we made only about $60k a year. Another $5k+ went towards medical bills due to his not-so-ideal health insurance and my many physical and mental health issues and another several thousand goes to help my daughter who currently can't work due to medical issues. With the change, we technically went to just over the poverty level. I really think we can build it to the point we'll have enough to live on. But with the transition, it became time to sell some of the things that I've been thinking about selling for a while - to help pad our income until we can figure things out on making a living doing this. Some were no

Categorizing Music

On the surface, this topic has absolutely nothing to do with stigmas. But read until the end and you'll see why this was included in this particular blog. One day recently I was listening to the radio. My husband and I are now driving a new-to-us car and we haven't figured out the radio system yet, so we were testing different methods to find out the easiest way to program and access our favorite stations. Some of the stations we ran across were obvious - a popular song from the 70s was pretty indicative of an oldies channel; a twangy sound was most likely the local country channel; the mellow speaking voice meant it was probably NPR or a local talk radio show. But some were harder to guess. Sometimes the lines blurred. A pop rock sound could be a contemporary Christian channel or a latest hits station. Modern country can be confused with some types of old-school rock. Even what seems to obviously be NPR, could potentially be news. It made me think - where is the line drawn. Ju

Racial Stigma - Sadly, One I Haven't Thought Much About

A couple of weeks ago, I attended a conference in Birmingham, AL called "There IS a Balm in Gilead." It was to commemorate the 60th anniversary of the Sixteenth Street Baptist Church bombing.  Growing up in Birmingham, I have seen both sides of racial discrimination. It's still hard to believe how long segregation persisted in this southern city. I have met many black people who weren't able to get the job they wanted due to their race. But on the flip side, my dad was also directly impacted by discrimination, being passed over for a big promotion in the Birmingham Fire Department by an unqualified black man. A little over two years ago, I had the great privilege of interviewing Barbara Cross, one of the children of Reverend John Cross, the pastor of Sixteenth Street Baptist. She lived through the bombing and was able to forgive those who did it. You can read the article I wrote on the Alabama Baptist newspaper's website at  https://thealabamabaptist.org/her-most-