That's what I keep telling myself, anyway. I am not the best photographer or writer out there, but I'm good enough. My talent has value, and it's okay to charge people for it. Right? Right.
I hope so.
My inner dialogue on these new endeavors is all over the place. It ranges from "who do you think you are?" to "you don't need anyone's permission."
I really don't, you know. I don't need anyone's permission to go for it. There is no authority that will tell me when I am good enough to go pro. I determine that. Now is the time.
There's still a lot to learn and quite frankly, I'm scared. When I put my art on display I feel like I'm baring my soul for the world's critique. But you know what? The world is critiquing anyway. It might as well be my authentic self. Better for them to hate me (or worse, make fun of me--or even worse, ignore me) for who I am than to love me for who I'm not. I am most comfortable living veritably bare anyway.
That's me. Veritably bare.
I don't know what this blog will look like. Maybe it's a bad idea to tie my words to my photography site. Maybe everything would be better in clean little separate categories. Or maybe life is messy and beautiful and everything is all wrapped up together and that's what I want to display.
I'm 36 years old. I am not an imposter. This is my second coming of age.