As a freelancer, I’ve mastered independence, built routines, met deadlines, and delivered quality work. But sooner or later, the hustle wears thin. What’s missing isn’t more work—it’s purpose, and the community that sustains it.

🎙️ What Simon Sinek & Suzy Welch Say

On the A Bit of Optimism podcast (Episode 174, aired May 6, 2025), Simon Sinek and Suzy Welch discuss Maslow’s hierarchy of needs. Suzy points out that Maslow added a sixth level—self-transcendence—beyond self-actualization, where purpose and serving others become defining needs.

Welch shares compelling research: Only about 7% of people ever claim they truly know their purpose, and those who do report more direction, meaning, and resilience in life.

Sinek and Welch agree on another vital point: purpose is awakened and sustained in community, not isolation. We thrive when we share our journeys, wrestle with meaning together, and hold each other accountable.

🔎 Are You Struggling with Purpose?

Use these reflection questions to uncover where you are—and where you long to be:

1. Do you wake up excited about your work, or go through the motions?
2. Can you articulate your “why” beyond income and outputs?
3. Have you ever wondered if your work matters?
4. Do you feel stuck when it comes to your next meaningful step?
5. Are you drawn to others’ projects and values, but haven’t found your community?

If one (or more) of these resonates, you’re in a space many freelancers know too well: ambition without clarity.

🤝 Why Community Matters for Purpose

Purpose isn’t an iceberg—it doesn’t float alone. It’s shaped in dialogue, reflection, and co-creation. Listening to others share their personal projects and breakthroughs often reveals sparks of our purpose.

Sinek and Welch point out that group exploration enables us to see ourselves more clearly, especially when we witness someone else articulate theirs. Purpose is often discovered in conversation, not solitude.

🚀 Introducing The Story Thread

To bring these insights into real life, I created The Story Thread—a supportive community for professional and retired professional storytellers. Here’s what it’s all about:

• Connection and clarity—We meet monthly on Zoom to discuss what we’re working on, wrestling with, or dreaming about.
• Collective insight—sharing our personal storytelling projects often uncovers why we do what we do.
• Purposeful belonging—this isn’t a coaching session; it’s a space for honest reflection, encouragement, and shared growth.

📨 Join Us

If you’re a professional—or retired professional—communicator, photographer, videographer, or storyteller, I’d love to invite you to The Story Thread.

• Facebook Group: Write me at Stanley@StanleyLeary.com to get added.
• Monthly Zoom: Let me know if you’d like the meeting link—we’d be honored to have your voice in the circle.

Let’s discover purpose together, not apart.

👉 Podcast Timestamps

Here are two timecodes to reference in the episode:

• 00:05:30–00:06:30 — Simon introduces Maslow’s sixth level (self-transcendence)—our need to contribute and belong.
• 00:07:45–00:09:00 — A rich exchange on why community, not solo hustle, holds the key to purpose and sustainability.

Temple head coach Dawn Staley commands the floor with focus and fire during a matchup against Georgia Tech on November 18, 2007, at Alexander Memorial Coliseum in Atlanta. Her sideline intensity wasn’t just strategy—it was leadership in motion, a picture of what it means to coach with conviction.

Ever dealt with a difficult client who couldn’t calm down?

Maybe it was over a missed deadline or a last-minute change. Maybe they sent a message that felt way more intense than the situation called for. In those moments, it’s easy to label someone as “high-maintenance” or “difficult.” But what if we stopped to ask—What if they never got the training that maybe we were lucky enough to receive?

Or maybe—we didn’t either.

A Powerful Insight on Emotional Maturity

In a recent conversation between Simon Sinek and Dr. Becky Kennedy (watch it here on YouTube—start around the 18:10 mark), Dr. Becky shares a transformative insight:

“All of us come into the world with the capacity to feel all the emotions adults feel. But we don’t have any of the tools to manage them.”

That means every outburst, every meltdown, and even subtle moments of shutdown can be traced to one question: Did someone teach us how to feel what we feel and still stay in relationship with others?

If the answer is no, we don’t grow out of that—we carry it with us into adulthood, into our work, and into every client conversation.

Why This Matters for Photographers and Communicators

Those of us working in the gig economy aren’t just creatives—we’re negotiators, peacekeepers, and brand managers. And we do it without formal training in leadership or emotional development.

Leadership isn’t reserved for someone with a corner office. It’s how we:

• De-escalate a panicked bride on wedding day
• Calm an anxious CEO during a headshot session
• Respond to late payments or vague feedback with grace, not defensiveness

Understanding emotional regulation is one of the most important leadership tools, and many of us never knew it was part of the job.

When Emotions Flare: What To Do

So, how do we lead emotionally when tension rises—whether in a photo shoot, Zoom call, or inbox?

Here are six simple steps:

You Don’t Need a Title to Lead

This is your leadership if you’re a freelancer, storyteller, photographer, or communicator.

It’s the ability to create safety when others feel unsafe. It’s the choice to respond instead of react. And it’s the courage to do the inner work that ripples outward in every client relationship, every project, every post.

You’re already leading.

You just may not have called it that yet.

✨ What About You?

Have you ever paused and handled a difficult moment differently, and it changed everything? Or did you realize you were reacting from a place of emotional habit, not leadership?

I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments, or share this with someone who needs it.

Caption: This photo means a great deal to me. I’m pictured with Bill Bangham, one of my closest friends and longtime creative companions, and Eugene Richards, whose work has constantly reminded me that deep empathy and care for one’s subjects are not only possible but necessary. In many ways, this moment reflects the rare gift of being understood in a craft that often feels like a solitary path driven by relentless curiosity.

One of the hardest things I’ve had to come to terms with—especially as someone on the Autism Spectrum—is how difficult it is to find friends who will genuinely listen when I start talking about the topics I’ve taken a deep dive into.

These aren’t just casual interests. I don’t just “like” something—I dive in. I read, I re-read, I wrestle with the concepts. I chase it down rabbit holes, not for minutes or hours, but sometimes for years. Whether it’s storytelling, photography, theology, business practices, or even trumpet technique, I don’t let go of a topic easily. It sits with me, and I process it deeply over time.

But here’s the thing: that deep-dive thinking isn’t always welcome in everyday conversation. Even my wife, who loves me deeply and supports me in many ways, has her limits—especially when the topic doesn’t interest her like it does me.

That’s one of the fundamental challenges for those of us wired like this. For many people on the Autism Spectrum, deep curiosity is a kind of internal engine—it never shuts off. I’m constantly asking, “How can I do this better?” And I figure that out by repeatedly learning, revisiting, and reworking ideas. I don’t just want to learn something—I want to understand it from every angle. And I often want to talk it through as a way of thinking out loud.

But when you bring that intensity into regular conversations, you notice the blank stares—the polite nods. Or worse, people changing the subject. And slowly, you begin to pull back. You learn to bottle things up, to process quietly, because it feels safer than overwhelming someone you care about.

And it’s not just people on the Autism Spectrum who feel this. Those with ADHD, Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (OCD), Giftedness, or even those who identify as Highly Sensitive Persons (HSP) often experience this same struggle—being so consumed by a topic that you want to share it but not having many (or any) people who want to go there with you.

It can be lonely. And for me, it’s something I have to keep navigating.

I’m learning to seek out relationships where deep conversation is welcomed. I’ve found a few trusted friends who don’t flinch when I circle back to a subject I’ve already talked about a dozen times. They know I’m not stuck—I’m still learning, refining, and growing.

If you’re someone who relates to this, whether you’re neurodivergent or just deeply curious by nature, I want you to know you’re not alone. This intense engagement with the world is a gift, even if it sometimes feels isolating. Don’t stop learning. Don’t stop asking questions. But also, don’t stop searching for those rare people who can sit deep with you.

They’re out there.

And if you’re one of those people who can listen with patience and curiosity. You’re more valuable than you know.

Caption:
Media missionary Hannah Strayer extends a hand to Pastor Samweli Chacha in Tanzania, documenting his story — a story shaped by seminary training and agricultural mentorship that now allows him to shepherd his church and sustain his family. Her presence isn’t to take the spotlight, but to help share the light already shining through his leadership. This image captures exactly what the blog is about: Hannah may not have trained Pastor Samweli herself, but by telling his story, she’s helping others understand the long-term impact of leadership training and why that work matters. His story becomes the open door for others to see — and support — the strategic, quiet work that fuels transformation.

Over the years, I’ve seen a growing pattern among organizations that do phenomenal work in leadership development, training, and coaching. These organizations invest time, talent, and long-term commitment into walking alongside local leaders, not to do the work for them but to empower them to do it better. It’s patient, often quiet work that builds capacity, not headlines.

My sister and brother-in-law have served in Eswatini for years, first on the field and now by leading short-term teams who go to serve and train. Their mission is not to replace, but to come alongside — to help local leaders sharpen their vision, grow in confidence, and reach more people in their communities.

Another organization I work with does something almost identical: they provide leadership coaching and team development overseas, where long-term effectiveness often hinges on the strength of the local leadership.

Yet, both organizations are hesitant to lead with a story they didn’t personally “do.” They shy away from telling the emotional, compelling stories of the transformation happening on the ground—the very stories their partners are living out—because they feel it’s not their story to tell.

Here’s the hard truth: that mindset is holding them back.

The Power of the Story Isn’t Ownership — It’s Connection

When you lead with the local impact story — the woman starting a food business in a village after training, the orphanage that now runs sustainably with regional leadership, the youth center transforming a community — you’re not taking credit. You’re amplifying the fruit of the partnership. You’re showing what’s possible when strong leaders are equipped and supported.

And that’s precisely what you do.

Just because your role happens in a workshop or a strategy session, doesn’t make it less important — but it does mean that you need a bridge to help people emotionally care about that work. That bridge is the story. It sets the context for why your role matters. When the emotional story opens the heart, the explanation of your training opens the mind. People begin to see the complete picture of the ecosystem you’re building.

This is exactly what I talked about in my earlier piece, “Don’t Retire Your Strongest Stories.” Too often, leaders doing high-level, strategic work feel like their job isn’t “story-worthy,” but nothing could be further from the truth. The story needs context, and that starts with opening the door emotionally.

Let’s Talk About the Real Elephant: Storytelling Takes Money

Here’s what’s uncomfortable to admit: compelling, ethical, visually strong storytelling—especially across cultures and borders—costs money. Flights, translators, filmmakers or photographers who know what they’re doing—it’s not cheap. But it’s not optional, either.

In a crowded media world, attention is the new currency. If you’re not telling the story, someone else is — and they’re reaching the hearts of your potential supporters, volunteers, and future donors. When storytelling is done well, it doesn’t just “look nice.” It builds trust. It shows accountability. It puts the face to the cause and the emotion to the mission. And that’s what moves people to action.

In short: investing in storytelling isn’t a luxury. It’s a leadership decision.

If you’re working to grow and equip leaders, your communication should reflect that leadership. Set the example by being transparent, strategic, and emotionally resonant in telling your story. Lead with your partners’ stories—they are your story, too. Trust that the more you communicate the impact, the more doors will open for new teams, partnerships, and sustainable transformation.

Because the work is too important to stay hidden.

A photojournalist is more than a passive observer in the moments before a shot. Eyes alert, breath steady, hands ready—but what about the mind? What about the internal lens we rarely develop until later in our storytelling journey?

The best photographers aren’t just seeing—they’re feeling, anticipating, and eventually reflecting. In Brené Brown’s words, they’re practicing metacognition: thinking about their thinking.

The First Awareness: Observation

When we begin photojournalism, our first superpower is visual observation. We study light, read rooms, and frame interactions. This is what Brené Brown would call situational awareness—we notice what’s happening around us. It’s the first lens we learn to use.

The Second Awareness: Anticipation

With experience, we begin to anticipate. We can feel a moment building before it breaks—a hug, a tear, a confrontation, a prayer. That’s anticipatory awareness. We pre-visualize scenes not yet born. We understand the rhythm of emotion before it shows itself.

But all of this is still about them.

The Final Awareness: Ourselves

Here’s what often comes last, if at all: self-awareness.

And this is where metacognition comes in.

At around the 15:55-minute mark of the podcast, Simon Sinek, Adam Grant, and Brené Brown talk about metacognition not just as an intellectual exercise, but as a lived skill—being conscious of your internal reactions, patterns, and how you show up. For photographers, this means asking:

• How am I affecting the space I’m in?
• Am I shrinking the energy in the room, or expanding it?
• What does my face, posture, or silence communicate to others?

This connects beautifully with Vanessa Van Edwards’ idea of Resting Bothered Face (RBF). In her YouTube video “Fix Resting Bothered Face [RBF] with these simple tweaks” (around 1:30–2:00), she explains how our neutral expressions can unintentionally appear closed, judgmental, or even annoyed—especially in emotionally charged or vulnerable settings. Our unspoken presence can speak louder than our camera ever could.

Beyond the Camera

Metacognition matters even more when the camera is off.

Our presence still frames the moment in debriefs, classrooms, and communities. We’re still storytelling—but now through tone, timing, and emotional openness.

So, the question becomes: Am I aware of my awareness? Am I paying attention not just to what’s happening, but to how I think about what’s happening—and how that shapes the people I’m with?

Coaching Connection in an Isolated Craft

Photojournalists often work alone. This solitude is both a gift and a risk.

So, how do we coach ourselves—and our peers—toward greater community through metacognition?

1. Mirror Check

Before you enter a scene, please look at your face. What’s it saying? Is it open? Curious? Judgmental?

2. Reflect, Don’t Just Review

After the shoot, don’t just cull images. Ask: What was I like in that space? Did I bring presence, or just presence of mind?

3. Invite Feedback

Ask trusted subjects, students, or collaborators: How do I come across when working? It’s one of the most vulnerable and powerful things we can do.

4. Practice Emotional Rehearsal

When entering emotionally charged scenes, prepare yourself, not just your gear. How might you respond internally? How will you ground yourself?

Closing Frame

You’re not just capturing the story.

You’re part of the story.

Your metacognitive presence—your ability to be aware of your awareness—transforms your craft from visual witness to relational catalyst. It turns isolation into connection and builds community even when you work alone.

And maybe, in that awareness, we discover that the most powerful lens we ever develop is the one we turn inward.

As someone who’s spent a lifetime listening to people’s stories, I’ve learned that what we often admire most in others—their creative voice, passion, and impact—is born out of pain. It’s not just talent or opportunity. It’s what they do with difficulty.

I recommend a powerful two-part podcast interview with National Geographic photographer Cory Richards, hosted by Simon Sinek. Cory’s story is filled with raw honesty about success, struggle, depression, and finding purpose through a camera lens. It’s not just about photography. It’s about being human.

What stuck with me were Cory’s outlines of a four-part process he’s developed to stay grounded when life—and identity—begin to unravel. He calls it his framework for agency, and it’s something every creative, every missionary, and every person in ministry or leadership could benefit from reflecting on.

Cory Richards’ 4-Point Resilience Framework

1. Agency Is Everything
When things go wrong, the temptation is to blame or collapse. Cory talks about choosing not to live as a victim, even when the pain is real. Instead, he focuses on what I can do next. This isn’t about ignoring the hurt. It’s about reclaiming the power to respond.

2. Discovery Demands Discomfort
Growth doesn’t happen in our comfort zones. Cory reminds us to lean into the pain—because that’s often where the real learning begins. Whether it’s grief, burnout, or self-doubt, we can’t grow if we don’t face what hurts.

3. Certainty Kills Curiosity
The more sure we are, the less we tend to ask questions. Cory points out how dangerous that can be, especially in storytelling. Curiosity—about people, places, even ourselves—keeps our work fresh and connected.

4. Adaptation Leads to Evolution
When life changes (as it always does), we have two choices: cling to what was or grow into what could be. After experiencing a personal and professional collapse, Cory learned to reimagine his role and purpose. That’s when transformation began.

Why This Matters for Storytellers

Whether you’re a photographer, filmmaker, missionary, or nonprofit communicator, this framework speaks to more than mental health. It speaks to the soul of why we tell stories in the first place.

Many of us teach, mentor, and work alongside people trying to make a difference. But we can’t guide others if we’re not also doing the work within ourselves. Cory’s process reminds us that even in our lowest moments, we are still capable of purpose.

If you’ve ever felt overwhelmed by the tension of trying to do meaningful work while fighting your own internal battles, I hope this interview gives you language, perspective, and hope. I know it did for me.

Let me know what speaks to you after you listen. This is one of those conversations that lingers.

Today I had the chance to photograph the Fifth Annual Cops ‘N Cars Show—a vibrant, family-friendly event held at Lebanon Baptist Church in Roswell. What started as a car show has become something much more: a celebration of community, local pride, and the incredible support for those who serve and protect us daily.

This year marked a turning point for the event. With a new, larger venue, the show had room to expand—and it did. Rows of classic and custom cars stretched across the lot, food trucks served long lines of guests, and families mingled with local officers. Kids explored police cruisers and K9 units with wide eyes and curiosity.

As a photographer, I love capturing moments on the ground—smiles, conversations, the shine of chrome under Georgia sunlight. But it was the drone that told the whole story. From above, the scale of this year’s event became crystal clear. You could see the growth. You could feel the energy in a way that a ground-level shot couldn’t express.

The lesson hit me hard: Sometimes, the only way to truly capture the impact of a moment is to rise above it. That drone shot didn’t just show cars—it showed community. It showed what’s possible when a good idea is given room to grow. And it reminded me how perspective can shape storytelling.

Proceeds from the event benefit the Friends of Roswell Police Foundation, which supports local needy families and helps Roswell officers serve the community more effectively. It’s an event with heart—and now, thanks to the drone, we can see how big that heart has become.

At the Panaewa Stampede Rodeo, a cowboy’s rope lands true around the steer’s neck—capturing the split-second precision and intensity of this high-stakes moment in Hawai‘i’s rodeo tradition.

We’ve all heard the phrase “seeing is believing.” That idea goes all the way back to the Apostle Thomas, who famously wouldn’t believe Jesus was resurrected until he could see and touch Him for himself.

That moment captures something deeply human. We trust what we see. When it comes to communication—whether in business, education, or ministry—visuals aren’t just decoration. They’re the bridge between information and understanding.

In fact:

• Around 65% of people are visual learners.
• We retain up to 80% of what we see (compared to 10–20% of what we hear or read).
• Our brains are wired to process stories and visuals simultaneously.

So if we know that visual storytelling is one of the most powerful ways to communicate—especially the Why behind what we do—why are so few small businesses and organizations using it?

What Most People Do Instead (And Why It Doesn’t Work)

Instead of storytelling, most people default to facts, features, and benefits. They create:

• A list of services
• A bullet-point résumé of achievements
• A “we’re passionate about excellence” paragraph with no real-life example to back it up

The problem is: facts don’t move people. Stories do.

A list of what you do might check a few boxes, but it won’t build trust, spark a connection, or set you apart. Your potential clients or supporters aren’t just asking, “What do you do?” They’re asking:

“Can I see myself in your story?”

Why Some Storytelling Still Doesn’t Work

Now here’s the part most people miss—and it’s why even those who try storytelling often give up too quickly:

They weren’t strategic about it.

They post a few testimonials or a random behind-the-scenes video. They tell a personal story that matters to them, but doesn’t clarify the value they bring to others. Or they focus on storytelling as a tactic—instead of starting with a strategy.

Effective storytelling requires focus.
You need to know:

• Who is this story for?
• What action do I want the listener/viewer to take?
• How does this story reveal our mission, not just our personality?

When businesses skip strategy, they end up with stories that don’t land—and they wrongly assume storytelling just doesn’t work.

This Is Where I Come In

If you’re leading a business, ministry, or creative project and you’re struggling to clearly communicate what makes you different and valuable—I’d love to help.

I’ve spent years not only creating visual stories, but teaching others how to uncover the right stories for the right moment. I don’t just shoot a video or write a caption—I help you think strategically before we create tactically.

There’s a reason your story matters. You just might need help telling it the way people can see it.

📩 Reach out to me if you’re ready to turn your story into something that works—not just something that sounds good.

In 1990, I lost my job with the International Mission Board. Budget cuts. One day I was doing meaningful work I loved — work I believed in deeply — and the next, I was packing my things.

Later, I lost another job at Georgia Tech.

And now, looking back over the past 20 years of running my own business, I’ve started to notice a pattern. I have incredible seasons with clients — I walk with them, help tell their stories, see real transformation — and then that chapter ends. Sometimes it’s budget. Sometimes it’s new leadership. Sometimes it just… shifts.

Every time this has happened, I’ve faced a tough question:
Who am I, when the work stops?

When your identity is wrapped up in what you do — the title, the paycheck, the projects — and that goes away, it can feel like you go away with it. You start to wonder:
Do I still have a purpose? Do I still matter?

For a long time, I wrestled with that. But somewhere along the way, I started seeing things differently.

That shift really took shape when I read Simon Sinek’s The Infinite Game. He makes the case that life — and especially meaningful work — isn’t about winning or finishing. It’s not a race to a title or a trophy. It’s about playing the long game. An infinite game. One where the goal isn’t to “win” — it’s to keep playing with purpose.

That’s when I realized something important:
The work may end, but the calling doesn’t.

Each job loss, each client transition, each unexpected pivot has actually refined my calling — not erased it. My deeper purpose has always been the same: to help people tell stories that matter. To shine light where there’s hope. To give voice to truth, beauty, and purpose.

That’s not tied to a single employer or client.
It’s tied to something deeper — my why.

Here’s what I’ve learned along the way:

• Losing your job doesn’t mean losing your value. It may just be clearing space for something new to emerge.
• Your identity has to be rooted in something deeper than your business card. Titles and gigs come and go. Purpose endures.
• Pivoting isn’t failure. It’s movement. It’s growth. Sometimes it’s even grace.

So if you’re in a season where the work has ended — or you’re wondering what comes next — I want to encourage you:
You’re not done.
You’re not without meaning.
You’re just being invited to play the infinite game a little differently.

Keep showing up.
Keep playing with purpose.
Keep telling stories that matter.

For a deeper exploration of these themes, I highly recommend listening to the podcast episode “Where Is Simon Going?” from A Bit of Optimism. In this episode, journalist Cal Fussman interviews Simon Sinek, delving into topics like identity, purpose, and the concept of the infinite game. Their discussion offers valuable insights into how we can navigate life’s transitions and remain true to our calling. You can listen to the episode here:

Insights from a Mentor Who’s Walked This Road with You

One of my greatest joys is teaching and mentoring young adults, primarily through my work as a mentor in NPPA, YWAM, and our international storytelling workshops. I’ve spent much time listening to 20-somethings open up about what’s really going on in their lives—not just creatively or spiritually, but personally.

And one question comes up a lot:
“Why is finding real friends after high school or college so hard?”

That disconnection can feel overwhelming, whether fresh out of DTS or starting to build your life and calling. You want deep friendships. You want people who “get you.” But somehow, it’s more complicated than you expected.

You’re not imagining it. You’re not alone. And—this is important—you’re not doing anything wrong.

Mel Robbins, a respected author and speaker, has done some excellent work recently in explaining what’s happening during this season of life. I want to break down some of what she shares and weave in what I’ve observed walking alongside young adults for decades.

The Great Scattering: Why Friendships Feel Like They’re Falling Apart

In school or during DTS, friendships form naturally. You’re living together, eating together, and praying together. You’ve got a built-in community.

But once that season ends? Everything changes.

People scatter across cities, countries, and even continents. Life gets busier. Priorities shift. Friendships that once came easily now require effort.

Mel Robbins calls this transition “The Great Scattering.” And it’s one of the most significant emotional shifts in your 20s. You suddenly realize that friendship isn’t automatic anymore. It has to be intentional.

What Makes Adult Friendships Stick

Robbins says lasting friendships usually need three things:

1. Proximity – You need to see or connect often.
2. Timing – You’re in similar life stages or can relate to each other’s experiences.
3. Energy – There’s a natural connection or shared purpose.

If even one of those is missing, that relationship might need extra effort or not work long-term. This doesn’t mean you failed. It just means the season or context has changed.

Real Friendship Takes Time

Another thing that surprises people: how long it takes to build close friendships as an adult.

• Around 74 hours of quality time can form a casual friendship.
• Over 200 hours are usually needed to build a deep one.

So when people say, “I don’t have close friends yet,” I often remind them—they probably haven’t had the time yet. Friendship is a slow burn, not a spark.

A Mentoring Mindset: Let Them

Robbins teaches something I often use when mentoring: the “Let Them” mindset.

If someone flakes on plans, let them.
If they don’t prioritize the friendship, let them.
If they go quiet for a while, let them.

This doesn’t mean you stop caring. It just means you stop chasing. You let people show you how much capacity they have for friendship. And you let yourself move forward without resentment or guilt.

What I Tell My Students (and My Kids)

If you’re in this season of figuring out who your people are, here’s my encouragement:

• Friendship gets harder, but it also gets richer. You’ll start finding people you choose—and who choose you back.
• Be the kind of friend you’re looking for. Consistent. Curious. Kind.
• Don’t confuse loneliness with failure. Most people are lonely. But few are willing to admit it. Your courage to press in is part of what will build your future.

And if we’ve crossed paths—on a YWAM base, in a workshop overseas, or through storytelling—I want you to know I see you. I know this road can feel lonely sometimes. But I promise: the deep, soul-filling friendships you’re looking for can be built. They just take time, intention, and grace.

I’m cheering you on.

Photo by Robin Rayne

In 2002, I left a full-time job to launch my freelance career as a visual storyteller.

I had a couple of cameras, a good amount of hope, and just enough naivety to think it might actually work out.

At the time, I didn’t know that most freelance businesses fail.

According to small business statistics, around 50% fail within 5 years, and only a small fraction survive beyond 20. The creative world — especially photography, video, and storytelling — is notoriously tough. And freelancing? That adds a whole new layer of uncertainty.

But somehow, 23 years later, I’m still here.

So, how did I beat the odds?

If I had to sum it up in one word, it would be adaptability.

The world I started freelancing in looked nothing like the one we’re in now:

• Digital cameras were just beginning to replace film.
• YouTube didn’t exist yet.
• Social media wasn’t part of any marketing plan.
• Clients mailed checks.
• And no one was asking about “vertical video” or “AI editing tools.”

Through all that, I’ve continued to build Storyteller & Brand Builder into something that has stayed relevant and effective for clients — not by doing everything, but by doing the right things at the right time.

Here are a few truths I’ve learned:

1. Clients don’t just hire services — they hire trust.

When clients trust that you understand their mission, care about their message, and will deliver — they come back. And better yet, they refer others.

2. You can’t afford to stop learning.

I’ve taken courses, learned new software, upgraded gear, and adjusted workflows more times than I can count. The moment I get too comfortable is the moment I start slipping behind.

3. Being a storyteller is more valuable than being a technician.

Lots of people can shoot video. Fewer can find the story, frame it in a meaningful way, and create emotional impact. That’s where real value — and longevity — lives.

4. You have to be more than “just a creative.”

I’ve taught workshops around the world, consulted with businesses on branding, coached young storytellers, and helped nonprofits raise support with visual messaging. Those things not only diversify income — they deepen the impact.

The Real Secret? Keep Showing Up.

There were slow months, canceled contracts, hard pivots, and seasons where I questioned whether this path was sustainable. But each time, I focused on what I could control: my skillset, my attitude, and my relationships.

This isn’t a story about getting lucky.

It’s about showing up consistently — for clients, for causes, for community.

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Photo by Dorie Griggs

One of the strengths I bring to my workshops, especially the intense one-week kind, is discernment. I often see very clearly where someone needs help or correction. It’s not a guess or a vague hunch; it’s a sharp awareness and part of my brain’s workings.

Being on the Autism spectrum, I know that directness often comes with the territory. For me, it’s less about being blunt and more about being efficient, honest, and helpful. If someone is doing something that could be better, I want them to know, because I also want to know when I can grow or improve.

But I’ve learned that this can be hard for others to accept, especially in a condensed, emotionally charged learning environment like a one-week creative workshop, where students are already being stretched in vulnerable ways.

The Challenge: How do I lead with clarity and kindness?

It’s something I continue to wrestle with. I care deeply about my students and want to give them my best. I want them to grow, to see what I see in their work and rise to it. But I also want them to feel safe, seen, and not crushed by my critique.

What I’m Learning (and Relearning) About Communicating with Warmth

Here are a few things I’m putting into practice—and maybe they’ll be helpful for others too, especially those of us who are more naturally wired for truth than tact:

1. Ask Before Advising

Instead of jumping in with a correction, I’ve started asking:
“Would you like some input on that?” or “Can I offer an observation?”

This slight pause respects their autonomy. It shifts the dynamic from “Here’s what’s wrong” to “I noticed something—would you like to know?”

2. Affirm What’s Working First

It’s easy to focus on what needs fixing, because that’s often what stands out. But I’m learning to discipline myself to notice and say what’s working.

Example:
“Your use of natural light in this shot is so strong—it feels honest and intentional. There’s one element that’s distracting from that, though. Want to take a look together?”

This frames feedback as refinement, not rejection.

3. Be Curious, Not Just Correct

Instead of saying, “This doesn’t work,” try:
“I wonder what would happen if you tried this differently?”

This shifts the posture from teacher-as-authority to teacher-as-co-explorer, and that builds trust.

4. Let Silence Help

Sometimes, my directness is less about what I say and more about how fast I say it. Pausing for a breath or letting a moment sit before speaking helps me better gauge the emotional space. Slowness can be kindness.

5. Let Students Reflect First

Instead of jumping in with my take, I’ve begun asking:
“How do you feel about this work? Is there anything you wish had turned out differently?”

Students often already sense what needs improving, and saying it themselves gives them ownership and dignity.

Teaching is Not Just About the Work—It’s About the Person

I’m still learning to hold this tension: giving honest, helpful, transformative feedback, without stripping the humanity out of it. It’s easy to prioritize information over connection, especially in short workshops, where time is tight. But connection is what makes the information stick.

My discernment is not a flaw. My directness is not wrong. They’re strengths. But strengths need refinement, just like the students I’m trying to help.

And maybe that’s the lesson underneath all of this: we’re all learning how to see better, speak better, and love better—even when it’s uncomfortable.

If you’re someone who also struggles with how to confront or correct others, maybe start with this question:

“What would it feel like for me to hear this?”

Or even better:

“What tone would help me stay open to this feedback?”

Because that’s what we want—for people to stay open, not shut down. To grow, not retreat. And that starts with how we speak.