You're Living the Dream!

A friend told me earlier this year that I was “living the dream.”

At the time, I scoffed.

The phrase felt disconnected from my lived reality. In my mind, the dream was cleaner, easier, more romantic. Financial security without tension. Fewer worries. More time. Less pressure. A version of life where effort didn’t carry weight.

Somewhere along the way, I had accepted a false image of what the dream was supposed to look like, and because of that, I couldn’t see the truth of what I was already living.

It wasn’t until last week, standing alone in the fading light at The Garden of the Gods Park, that my friend’s words returned and finally made sense.

It was my last night in Colorado after finishing a project for a client. The next day, I would head home, back to the beautiful, demanding rhythm of family life with nine children. I’ve learned to cherish those in-between moments, when client work gives way to solitude, and solitude gives me space to see clearly again and return home renewed.

The light that night was dramatic and kept shifting.
Every exposure felt different.

As the sun sank below the horizon and visible light faded, the small crowd around me slowly disappeared.

I stayed long past sunset.
I knew, deep down, that the one final exposure would be the best. A long exposure. Quiet. Unrushed. The kind of photograph you make because you feel it just has to be made.

In moments like that, my thoughts often turn toward gratitude.
Grateful that I’ve been able to support my family for over twenty-five years through photography. To how, after decades of hard work, trial, failure, and persistence, I’ve found a rhythm that allows space for both client work and personal work. And how blessed I am to use the talents God has given me to provide, create, and serve.

As the final exposure finished, my friend’s comment echoed in my head again:

“You’re living the dream!”

This time, I didn’t scoff.
I gently smiled, nodding my head in agreement.

I finally realized that the dream I had been chasing was never real. It was a romanticized version of success, stripped of responsibility, sacrifice, and trust.

The dream I was already living was harder, fuller, and infinitely more meaningful.

I am married to my high school sweetheart. We’ve been married for twenty-eight years. We homeschool our nine children. We’ve weathered financial storms, seasons of uncertainty, and moments where faith was the only thing holding us steady.

Through it all, the Lord has been there, faithfully guiding us.

That realization brought me an unexpected peace.
Standing there in the fading light, I let go of the anxiety I had been carrying this year about growth, sales, and my selfish ambition. I placed those concerns back where they belong, at God’s feet. I felt a renewed contentment with what He has given me, and a clearer understanding of where He is leading me next, especially in my fine art work. Over the past few years, I’ve slowly begun to find my voice there, and I am excited to continue down the path God has laid out for me.

I’m grateful for client work; it keeps food on the table. It also restores something deeper when collaboration is rooted in mutual respect. When clients value the work, the process, and the person behind the camera, it replenishes my emotional currency. That balance has been a gift these past few years.

Personal work reaches even further. It refuels me spiritually, especially when I am not at Mass. Those solitary moments in the wilderness, photographing God’s creation, give me space to breathe, to pray without words, and to remember who I am and who I ultimately work for. They allow me to photograph without constraints, to take my time crafting compositions, and to study how light behaves across landscapes, seasons, and time. That knowledge always finds its way back into my commissioned work, helping me honor buildings and spaces as thoughtfully as possible, even within tight schedules and limitations.

Interestingly, client work has sharpened my personal work as well. After twenty-five years of honing decisiveness, I don’t waste moments when photographing for myself. I come home with strong images, not because I rush, but because I’ve learned how to wait well.

As Christmas approaches, slowing down even more feels especially appropriate.

Advent asks us to prepare for the coming of Christ through humility, attentiveness, and trust – not through noise or accumulation. It calls us to set aside our prideful desires and return to what matters most.

It’s easy to lose peace this time of year. We rush. We plan. We worry. We fill every quiet moment with noise. But that busyness steals joy. Christmas invites us to recover it.

There is a song I return to often this season: Veni, Veni, Emmanuel.
When I hear it, I want to escape the noise of the world, sit quietly with a warm cup of tea, and return to what is sacred—Scripture, the writings of the early Church Fathers, and the quiet presence of God.

Standing at the Garden of the Gods that night, I realized I was living the dream.
Not the easy, romanticized version. The real one.

The one built on faith, family, hard work, sacrifice, gratitude, and trust.
Trust that the Lord provides.
Trust that the path unfolds as it should.
Trust that the work, when done with care and humility, is enough.

As I look toward the year ahead, that is the posture I want to carry with me: trust.

I hope this season offers you moments to slow down, to see clearly, and to recognize the blessings already present in your life.

God Bless,

What is something from this past year that, when you pause long enough, you’re grateful to carry forward?