A Covenant with Myself

When you hear the word “covenant,” you might instinctively place it within the realm of theology—an agreement between God and His people, a sacred promise etched into the fabric of faith. But to me, a covenant is more than a biblical concept. It is a personal contract, a vow we make with ourselves and others, a commitment that binds us to something greater than a passing desire.

In 1975, when my dad handed me my first camera—a Minolta SRT 101—I made a covenant with myself. I promised that I would learn it to the best of my abilities and that I would immerse myself in the art and craft of photography. I had no idea then what that promise would mean, how it would shape the trajectory of my life, or how, nearly fifty years later, I would still be learning, still chasing light, still refining the way I see the world through a lens.

Some covenants we make with ourselves are small, subtle, almost whispered agreements. The promise to wake up early and catch the sunrise. The pledge to slow down, to see rather than just look. Others are monumental, all-consuming commitments that demand discipline, patience, and unwavering faith. Photography has been both for me—a quiet whisper and a roaring declaration, a passion that has anchored me in the present while propelling me toward an ever-unfolding future.

But not all covenants last forever. Some must be broken or redefined. Life changes, priorities shift, and sometimes, we outgrow the very promises we once made with every fiber of our being. I have abandoned cameras, formats, and even entire ways of shooting because I realized that holding onto something out of sheer obligation stifles growth rather than fosters it. The same is true in life—we stay in relationships, careers, or mindsets long after they serve us because we fear breaking a promise, even when that promise no longer aligns with who we are.

Knowing when to move on is just as important as knowing when to hold on. Some covenants must be honored for a lifetime, like the one I made with myself that day in 1975. Others must be released, with gratitude for what they gave us and an openness to what’s next. The art of photography, like the art of living, is about discernment—understanding when to stay, when to pivot, and when to let go.

Keeping covenants matters because they define us. They give us purpose, shape our identity, and ground us in something meaningful. But honoring a covenant doesn’t always mean holding on—it sometimes means having the wisdom to evolve, to break free, to create new promises that align with the person we are becoming.

Photography has taught me this: that light changes, subjects shift, and moments pass. But the covenant I made with myself all those years ago remains—not because I cling to it blindly, but because I allow it to grow with me. And that, I believe, is the truest way to honor any promise.

Click.

Jack.

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Jack Hollingsworth
Photographer