I have very few regrets about my childhood. Along with my siblings, I was a privileged kid. We had more than most—more opportunity, more comfort, more security. For all of this, I will forever be grateful.
But if I’m honest, and I speak only for myself, there was one thing I longed for and never truly felt I received: unconditional love.
Love, in my home, came with conditions. There were expectations—spoken and unspoken—of who we should be, how we should act, and what success should look like. And when we met those expectations, love felt abundant. When we didn’t, it felt distant. I don’t blame my parents for this. They were good people who did their best with the tools they had. But as a child, I often felt like love had to be earned. That I had to prove my worth to receive it. That approval was love, and love was approval.
It took me years to understand the quiet ache that lingered because of this. The feeling of never quite measuring up, never quite being enough. And it has taken even longer to fully grasp the kind of love I needed—the kind of love every child deserves.
Unconditional love does not measure. It does not bargain. It does not withhold. It simply is. It wraps itself around you on your best days and your worst, in triumph and in failure. It does not shift with performance or change with circumstances. It remains, steady and unwavering, a foundation that cannot be shaken.
I have often wondered if this longing for unconditional love is what led me to photography. Because in my world, photography has always been just that—unconditional.
I could fuck up a thousand times over, and my camera would still be there, waiting with open arms. No judgment. No criticism. No disappointment. It never asked me to be more than I was in that moment. It never required me to be perfect. I could fail, and fail spectacularly, but photography never turned its back on me.
Even to this day, when I pick up my camera, I feel that powerful, visceral sense of belonging. A love that says, “You are enough.” It is my sanctuary, my safe place, my refuge from a world that so often loves with conditions.
I say all of this not to diminish the love and legacy I did receive, but to encourage anyone reading this to be mindful of the love they give. Do not love the people in your life against the critical measurements of your own expectations. Love them for who they are—flawed, beautiful, unique human beings. Love them without conditions, without contingencies, without the need for them to perform or prove themselves.
And if, like me, you have ever struggled to find that kind of love, I hope you discover something—some passion, some calling, some sacred space—that loves you without question. A place where you are always welcome. A place where you are always enough.
For me, that place has always been photography. And for that, I am endlessly grateful.
Click.
Jack.
