The Photography Contest

This past July, I received an email invitation to participate in a photography contest. A native landscape company put it on, and offered gift cards as prizes. First place: $75; second place: $50; third place: $25. Having given this company more of my money than I would care to admit, I was motivated to get even a little bit of it back.

I looked through my photo library. The contest rules required that all entries contain images of native plants and/or animals. I felt good about my odds. I had a good camera with an even better lens, and I had lucked out with a couple of really nice captures. I could submit up to three photos, so I took about ten minutes, picked my best three, and sent them in.

Then I waited.

After the contest deadline passed, another email arrived; this one informing me that one of my images had made the finals, and could I please send a “print size file, 20” on the longest size at 300dpi?”

What the…..?

I immediately forwarded the email to a good friend who spent well over a thousand hours in her first year of  retirement learning professional photography. In, what felt to me like record time, she had become a Certified Professional Photographer. Importantly, she had taken numerous advanced classes on photoshop editing. I was counting on her willingness to shepherd me through this conundrum.

Her response: “Super easy to adjust size. Open up your image editor and select resize. Put in those parameters and you are good to go.”

Nope. Definitely NOT good to go, given that I had absolutely no idea what she was telling me to do. So, taking the lazy, panicked approach, I simply begged her to do it for me. She then requested the ORIGINAL (all caps were hers) file. I had no idea what she meant by that either, so I just sent her the image that was on my computer.

Shortly thereafter, she returned the resized file, along with a lengthy explanation on jpgs, megapixels, compression and pixels per inch. I skimmed over all that just so I could get to the end, where she typed: “I went ahead and changed the sizing to what you were asked to provide.”

Did I mention what a good friend she is???

Our effort earned me third place and a $25 gift card. A week later, I went to pick up my prize and also proudly view my photo displayed in the store. The competitor in me evaluated the two photos that beat mine. After getting home, I decided that it was totally unfair that first place went to a professional photographer who had altered his image with super advanced photo editing skills from programs I do not have. I whined about this to my friend.

Her response? “Umm…no. You want to win contests, you gotta swing in the big leagues. IMHO.”

I had to admit: she was absolutely right. I got out of that contest exactly what I put into it. I’m not a professional photographer. I lucked out with a really nice capture. I thought it would do well, despite spending minimal time cropping/editing it. Ultimately, I needed help sizing it for display in the store.  

With most, if not all things, we get what we give. Sometimes luck plays into it, but mostly, success comes from effort. I know people who would rather blame the rules, or the system, or some other external force, as opposed to realistically evaluating their own effort and simply vowing to try harder. I was that exact person in the photography contest, so I can relate. I’m glad my friend set me straight.

Truth be told, I really have no desire to put much effort into winning a photography contest. However, I do have goals that are a zillion times more important to me. Some days, these goals feel completely unachievable. Other days, just really daunting.

But most days, chasing them is exhilarating. Just like swinging for the fences.

Grateful for Rejection

Almost ten years ago, I attempted to become a judge. My legal career was peaking and the time seemed right. A powerful individual convinced me that I was the winning candidate. I hadn’t been elected to anything since I ran for school board rep at my high school. A group of friends served as my campaign committee. I cobbled together a website for fundraising. I marched in parades and walked miles of city blocks distributing campaign fliers, limping on a really painful hip.

In the end, I came in third out of four candidates in the primary, mercifully ending this effort rather than dragging it out. I also applied to be a judge through the appointment process. I believed I had good experience and credentials. I thought I had great references. In the end, the powers that be thought otherwise.

After two attempts, I quit. I know people who have applied dozens of times. For me, that was not an option. I needed to settle back into the job I had and embrace the opportunities in front me. I also needed to focus on the other aspects of my life that brought me purpose and joy.

As it turns out, that rejection was quite possibly the best thing that ever happened to me. Had I become a judge, I never would have been able to live where I live now – in my little slice of paradise. And, ten years later, I know I would have hated being a judge.

For me, rejections have been large and small. Like any form of failure, some can be incredibly painful. Rejection has the power to make us afraid to try again.

As I crossed the mid-century mark, I discovered that rejection and failure can be spectacular forms of motivation. A couple months ago, while traveling to our last hunt test of the season, I listened to a retriever training podcast entitled “Go Home With a Ribbon or Go Home With a Lesson.” In that moment, I decided to embrace the potential for failure and a lesson with as much enthusiasm as the desire for success and a ribbon. In doing so, I felt a sense of peace. And when the weekend ended, we came home with TWO ribbons!

Each rejection or failure offers with it an opportunity to learn something. To decide to try again. Or decide to try something else. For all those opportunities, I am grateful.

You Must Do the Thing You Think You Cannot Do

Years ago, I clipped this Eleanor Roosevelt quote out of the newspaper and slid it under the glass top of my desk at work. As someone whose job was to convey confidence and compassion, I often found myself in a courtroom acting out a part in a scene. Once safely back in my office, all of my imposter syndrome rose up and threatened to crush me.

All my life, I have endeavored to match my interior self with the image I project. Some days I could celebrate full accomplishment, other days I felt a severe and painful disconnect. 

As I look at this blog, I see that the last thing I wrote about was accepting love when feeling vulnerable. That was a huge step for me. But before that, I fiercely advocated for a new ACL, when doctors were telling me that a woman of my advanced years did not need one.

I wanted to run agility again without fear of falling. I wanted to work on my property without fear of one leg giving way and causing further injury.

Now, I do both. It turns out, I needed that new ACL to defeat a fear that lurked within - the fear of never again being able to live my life the way I wanted to live my life. 

I can’t remember the exact day that I ran a complete agility course at full speed, while Watson careened around me with his usual inconsistent focus. I can’t remember the exact moment that I realized that I was doing a thing I previously thought I could not do. But at some point, the moment arrived when I noticed how I felt.

Fearless. 

Several months ago, a giant tree blew down, blocking my driveway. The storm also knocked out the power. After initially celebrating the purchase of my battery powered chainsaw, I soon succumbed to being overwhelmed by the task at hand. There was no way I was going to be able to cut up this tree sufficiently to clear the driveway. The neighbors were away. I was trapped.

I needed to settle my mind. I needed to focus. I needed to prioritize. They were things, in the moment. I thought I could not do.

And then, I did them all.

As I accrue more and more of these instances when I do a thing I thought I could not do, I notice that the disconnect between my inner and outer selves is steadily shrinking.

I have a friend who runs ultra marathons. I have another friend who, on some days, struggles to get out of bed in the morning. A few days ago, NBC anchor Willie Geist mentioned this very Eleanor Roosevelt quote, as he reflected on his remarkable success running his first marathon and raising almost half a million dollars for Parkinson’s research. It hadn’t occurred to me that Willie Geist would be the type of person who thought there was something he couldn’t do.

We each have that thing or things we think we cannot do. Large or small, as long as we keep trying, we keep living.