The Wisdom of Essentialism

Four generations, including my oldest, shortly before I became a FT single parent in 1991.

I have lived a mostly DIY life. My curiosity craves knowing how to do things, and my dad was a man who never hired professionals until his mechanical abilities were exceeded... rarely. We changed our own oil, washed our cars, mowed our lawn. He remodeled our family home constantly... one room at a time.

By the time he finished a full pass through the house, he’d start again with a new look. East to west, then back again... often remodeling his workshop along the way.

This modeled behavior didn’t draw me to carpentry, but it shaped how I approached photography and writing.

I mastered black and white darkroom skills before I ever improved what I was printing. Then I flipped the focus... better content, better composition, better lighting... then back to the darkroom to try new techniques.

Once I became a business owner, I had to make a tough call: "Do I want to be a shooter or a chemist?" Doing both wasn’t realistic.

Jackson Tower - 1992

So I opened Prints Charming Photography & Framing with my 401k from retail management... funds I could only access if I retired or lost my job. In 1996, I chose to "lose the job" long enough to sprint up the hill of self-employment. One kid, another on the way, and a wife at home, my photography earnings weren’t enough. When my savings and credit ran dry, I went back to retail... graveyard shift... to keep the studio dream alive.

The sporadic support from my then-spouse made it hard to ask for more while she wore the full-time mom hat. So I learned to live without REM sleep. For four years: 32–40 hours of graveyard shifts, and at least 50 in the studio.

Two-hour nap... stock shelves at Tigard Fred Meyer. Two-hour nap... work on the studio. Two-hour nap... stock shelves at Burlingame Fred’s. Rinse, repeat. Sometimes I picked up a sixth shift. Time-and-a-half as a journeyman made the sacrifice worth it, knowing I had mouths to feed and a dream to build.

Even in those years, I mowed the lawn, did bedtime “tickle-time” with my two oldest (really just tackle dad and pillow fights), managed our finances, and... channeling my dad... remodeled the basement into my first studio. I hadn’t realized that four years of broken sleep meant my brain hadn’t had its proper housekeeping time.

Quitting the graveyard job was a huge step, so I planned a backpacking trip to Eagle Cap Wilderness, completely unprepared physically. On my first of six nights, I woke in a panic, gasping for air... jolted by a dream.

REM sleep had been on hold so long that dreaming felt foreign. My hiking buddy, also a photographer with a decade more experience, was the perfect companion... quiet drives and trails, with one deep, meaningful conversation each day.

“Brotherhood” - Selfie with Peter Paul Ruben - 8/6/2000.

Despite a severe knee injury, that trip shifted something. I returned with gratitude for having just one career to focus on. Sales doubled each year from 1997... 2001, the year I finally cut the Fred Meyer umbilical cord. But then came fall 2001... post-9/11, when business tanked. A sobering time, since our third child had been conceived the night before.

To survive, I said yes to every form of photography... anything to sustain my family. There were no short days. Just long ones, driven by purpose.

So yes, I became as DIY as my dad. I had more time than money, so I did everything I could myself. My then-spouse took a part-time job and made it clear: send out a promotional mailer, or take her off the business entirely. She was certain it would fail.

Apparently, that push was exactly what I needed. I sent the mailer. The business grew out of the basement.

By November 2003, I signed my first five-year lease for a storefront studio in a nearby professional building. Huge pivot point. The landlords required a licensed contractor. When my improvement budget went over, I had to pay out of pocket.

But it was more than therapeutic... it was a turning point. I discovered the phrase: "Just because I can doesn’t mean I should."

Six of our blended seven, lunching at Santa Monica Pier - 2014.

Someone else built the walls, installed flooring, painted. (Though yes... we helped.) I was able to keep doing what I do best.

Fast-forward through the domestic turbulence, the Great Recession, a new marriage with two stepsons from New Zealand... I came across a book called Essentialism.

The biggest takeaway? A simple, powerful filter: "If it’s not a ‘hell ya!’... it’s a no."

I’d spent too many years doing everything myself. It wasn’t lack of intelligence. It was a habit of doing all that I was capable of doing … habits formed while I didn’t have the funds to hire professionals.

Essentialism held a mirror up to me at a time when hiring was still a stretch, but allowed me the time to earn the funds to hire a professional.

While I cannot speak for the thoughts of my own father while he was busily working on our home, I can attest that I would have much rather been traveling with my family than working … fixing … plumbing.

My older friends say that parenting feels thankless until your kids have kids. Not holding my breath on that occurring, but I do hope they learn these lessons faster than I do. Life’s too short to always be in the driver’s seat or complaining about the drive while sitting in the back.

I’ve done my best to “Level up” from what I thought I could do better as a parent, but have no idea about the struggles of my dad. Coming from the suck-it-up-and-forge-ahead generation, he never complained about his struggles. I am left to imagine that he too did his best. Happy Father’s Day, dad.