A few months ago, I was on a casual, scenic walk with a friend. The air was crisp, the light was golden, and everything felt photographable.
Click.
Naturally, my iPhone was in my hand, as it always is, ready to capture what caught my eye. Somewhere between a picturesque bend in the trail and a small grove of trees glowing in the late-afternoon sun, she looked at me, smiled, and said, kinda annoyingly, something that lingered: “Your camera feels like… a distraction, are you distracted?”
I smiled back, but in my head, I thought, Distraction? Oh, no, it’s not that at all. Fuck no!
Distraction to you? Attraction to me!
Click, again.
If I’m honest, photography has always felt like the opposite of distraction to me. It’s not something that pulls me away—it’s something that pulls me toward. It’s not a side quest in life; it’s the main quest. In those moments when I lift my iPhone to frame the world, it’s as if I’m answering a gentle, magnetic pull.
To her credit, I can see how it might feel like a distraction to someone else.
I’ve got this same distant look, from many people, many times before. Forgive me.
From the outside, it probably looks like I’ve drifted off, wandering wherever the light or the lines lead me. And maybe I have. But for me, it doesn’t feel like I’m losing focus. It feels like I’m gaining it. Photography doesn’t scatter my attention; it gathers it, and funnels it into something more meaningful, more beautiful, more… alive.
Truthfully, I’ve always been a little bit ADD. My brain is like a bird hopping from branch to branch, always flitting to the next shiny thing. Photography doesn’t fight that nature—it flows with it. It gives me permission to be led by my impulses, my instincts, my eye. If I’m being pulled toward a reflection in a puddle, the soft glow of light through a window, or the way shadows cut across a sidewalk, I follow. I don’t question it.
Attraction is funny like that. You can’t manufacture it. You can’t force it. It’s either there or it isn’t. Thankfully, for me, photography is always there—leading, pulling, whispering. It’s the quiet siren call that says, “Look closer. See this. Frame this. Honor this moment.”
I know how it must feel to someone who doesn’t share this same pull. To my lady friend, who has zero interest in photography, it probably seems like I’ve checked out like I’ve chosen the camera over her company. I understand her angst, and I don’t take her feelings lightly. Relationships are about presence and connection, and I want to honor that. But here’s the thing: photography is part of who I am. It’s not something I can switch off. It’s not something I want to switch off.
Maybe I don’t have what it takes to be the greatest friend or lover?
If my photographic attraction feels like a distraction to her, I can only hope she sees it differently one day—not as competition for my attention, but as a glimpse into the way I see and connect with the world. I can’t promise to change this part of me, because to do so would mean giving up something essential, something that makes me… me.
As a side note, the only human being who ever truly understood, even supported, the way I see the world, was Shannon. What a gift. Thank you for seeing me and holding space for me. I hope, in my own way, I did the same for you.
Click.
Jack.
