Show Me Where You’re Brave

In Life Is Short, News & Stuff, Pep Talks, The Craft, The Italian Incident, The Life Creative by David96 Comments

There is a scene in the 2023 Netflix series Kaleidoscope in which the lead character, played by the inimitable Giancarlo Esposito, says to his young daughter, “Show me where you’re brave.” She responds by putting her finger to her head. “Now show me where you’re strong,” he says, and in response, she puts her finger on her heart.

I am feeling neither brave nor strong right now. This has all been so much harder than I had the capacity to expect.

A month ago, I was staring into the darkness of this amputation, so much of it unknown. It was easy then, to be brave in those moments of doubt, easy to talk myself into believing that whatever monsters lurked in the shadows would be manageable. Now, in the light of day, I see some of the enormity of them, and it leaves me trembling. The phantom pains were especially bad last week—absolutely crazy-making.

And I had my stitches taken out, the nurse going on and on about what a great job the surgeon had done. “This incision is gorgeous,” she said. I couldn’t help wondering if we were looking at the same thing because all I could see was the stuff of horror films, and it took everything in me to fight back the tears and the fear that Cynthia, and even I, would forever turn our heads to avoid looking at it.

I don’t want to turn my gaze from my own body; the thought of it makes me tremendously sad.

I know a time will come when the phantom pain subsides; it already feels like it has calmed down a bit. I named the worst of it “Vlad the Impaler” for the sensation of being stabbed over and over in the sole of a foot I don’t have. He seems to be losing interest in coming by quite so frequently, however; he’s a little less stabby now. And I know (more honestly, I hope) the time will come, probably not so long from now, when I will see in these scars something more than what I see now. But that doesn’t make now much easier.

What makes it a little easier is that being strong or being brave is not a matter of feeling. Strength and courage are what we conjure from deep places within us to override the feelings and to take whatever next step is necessary and not give up.

Twelve years ago, I spent 40 nights in the hospital, waiting for my body to heal from the accident that set all these shenanigans in motion. The constant drip of painkillers had a constipating effect on my body, and because I could neither get to a toilet nor (because of my broken pelvis) sit on it if I could, I had a nightly date with a nurse, an enema, and a bedpan, above which I would hover by holding onto the bars suspended above my bed—and I would do this in a room with three other patients. The nurse would pull the curtains and joke about giving me my privacy, knowing there are things a curtain can’t possibly conceal. It was hell. It’s funny now, but at the time, I gritted my teeth and wept, knowing there was no way I could ever do this. Until I did. What choice did I have?

We can do hard things. We often choose not to, but when we must, we do. We do not do them because we’re brave enough or strong enough. We do them because we have no choice—or because not doing them is even harder—and it is doing them that makes us brave or strong enough to do it again when we have to.

It is one of those paradoxes of life: we don’t do hard things because we’re resilient; we are resilient because we do hard things.

To do otherwise is to settle. To give up on dreams and allow ourselves to fade away from being the person we are becoming and slide into the great mass of humanity that is resigned not to live artfully, not to risk the possibility that their one life could light sparks beyond what we believe ourselves capable. To live with as few bruises as possible and to get used to the slow silencing of our dreams. No one sets out to live like that, but it happens because settling is so much easier. We wake up one morning and there we are, mired in the normal and the easy. To me, that is so much harder. It’s an easier place to get to but so much harder to live with.

I fear settling for whatever version of my life lies ahead of me if I don’t do the hard things. The hard things are always temporary, and usually not as traumatic as we fear. The hard things make us more interesting.

Remember: what doesn’t kill us gives us something to blog about. It gives us a story. But more than that, it makes us resilient; it makes future hard things a little less hard, if only because we know we’ve bounced back before and we can do so again. Sadly, the opposite is also true. When we shrink away in the face of whatever obstacles block the path to our dreams, we reinforce the idea that, in fact, we can’t do hard things, and because of that limiting belief, our armour gets a little softer, the shadows get a little scarier, and our dreams get further and further away as it becomes easier and easier to settle.

The poet E.E. Cummings once observed that “unbeing dead isn’t being alive.” In my experience, unbeing deadlies on the near side of whatever hard thing blocks your dreams right now, and being alive—truly awake and vital—lies on the other side of that hard thing and whatever adventure it takes for you to get there.  

Art-making always takes risk. So does living artfully. But it’s the difference between unbeing dead and being truly alive, which has never once been for the faint of heart.

We don’t need to feel brave to act with courage, and we don’t need to feel strong to find that we are.

But we do need to step into the hard things and—if it helps—to point to your head to remember where you’re brave, and put your finger on your heart to remind you where you are strong.

For the Love of the Photograph (and those who make them),

Footnotes: An Update on my Amputation

I went for a hike the other day. At one point, I would have called it a short walk, but with crutches, it became an expedition! Still, how amazing it was to be outside and mobile—footless and fancy-free!—so soon after the surgery. I can’t wait to do this with my new leg!

I had a cast molded for my residual limb this week, and on July 05, I’ll be fitted for my first prosthetic leg and foot and will begin walking again. It’ll be slow at first, and I suspect they’ll want me to use crutches so I’m not fully weight-bearing. And it’ll take some time to work up to the point where I can wear my prosthesis full-time, but this amazes me: I had surgery on June 05, and I will walk again on July 05. One month! This first prosthetic leg and foot will be temporary; it’ll take some time to get everything working and customized. The socket into which my residual leg fits will probably be remade a couple of times as my leg shrinks, and my choice of foot will take some time in terms of discovering the technology that is best for me, but these are all steps down a miraculous road, and I’m so grateful to all of you for your support. It gets less scary with every step. Thank you!

Creating the mold for my new socket. The markings help the prosthetist to shape the socket just right. After this, he wrapped the whole thing in plaster and then put it all into a vacuum to make it the tightest, most accurate fit possible.
The rather surreal view I have while doing my daily workout and rehab. What a strange thing it is to not see what was there for 52 years of my life.


  1. From the moment I received your first post regarding the amputation of your foot, David, you’ve been on my mind and in my heart. I’ve long considered you my teacher in more than just photography. From your books and blogs, videos and courses, your presentation in Nanaimo many years ago, and your personal response to a comment I once made on one of your blog posts, it’s little wonder my learnings through you have reached deep into many aspects of my living on this Earth. For all that, I am filled with gratitude. And so I thank you for your posts on what is likely one of the most challenging milestones of your life. I thank you for sharing your honesty, your vulnerability, your fears and your joys. You continue to teach about the gifts of life, and I continue to be the grateful recipient of your heart. As you go forward in your healing as well as your photographic journeys, I send sincere wishes to you, to Cindy, and to all who hold you dear, for a life of continual discovery.

  2. Suggested book: SAVED, A War Reporter’s Mission to Make It Home by Benjamin Hall

  3. Love that you went for a hike!!! Really appreciate how you shine – thank you for sharing that and everything else. Since hearing your news, I saw a guy on UK has talent – or something like that – who danced w/ one leg and crutches. Beautiful. And saw the film ‘Augmented’ about a guy who lost his legs in a climbing accident and now he make feet (and legs?) for other amputees. I’m so glad there will be many more options for you than there used to be. <3

  4. This has been super inspirational. Never stop chasing what keeps us alive. Thank you for sharing.

  5. Thank you so much for your astounding candor. As another comment mentioned, the “toxic positivity” so prevalent today masks our humanity, and hence discourages empathy and connection with our fellow humans. You have always been an inspiration photographically, and now your blog has taken your impact on me (and I imagine many others) to a new level. Thank you for sharing. Can’t wait for you to come back to Kenya, I still want to buy you that drink in Nairobi. Here’s hoping you make it back very soon.

    1. Author

      Hi Tamara! I’ll be back to Kenya in January / February. Let’s see if we can make that drink happen. Do you want to email me closer to the time?

  6. David,
    One day, one step, sometimes just one moment, at a time. Thank you for sharing your creativity and knowledge, your journey, your vulnerability, and your insight. You are a gift to all whose lives you touch.
    Be well!

  7. David, I’m a relatively new photographer and follower of yours. You have and continue to inspire me! You will not be defined by having lost your foot…you will continue to be defined as an extremely talented photographer, writer, and teacher!
    I heard about you in an online class where the instructor said: ” Run, don’t walk, and get anything you can that David duChemin offers!” I took that advice and I’m so glad that I did!
    Thank you for sharing your journey and for all the wisdom and insights I will continue to gain from you as I work through your books & online classes.
    Sending you healing thoughts & energy. May your outings in nature, even short ones, feed your soul and help you heal!

  8. Dear David,
    I started reading your messages on the internet 13 years ago when I retired from my jobas a teacher of English in France and I have found them very inspiring. Thank you for being who you are . Be strong in front of adversity.
    Lots of sympathetic thoughts.

  9. Thank you David for stepping up (yes, I know) so beautifully.

    I started reading this the other day but stopped because I was rushed. This morning I started over.

    Thanks from the bottom of my heart. When you go deep it helps us all. You know that, right? You have lived off the inspiration of many before you. You’ve told us that. Not all of us have the good relationship with words that you have. I hoped you could do it. And you did. Thank you, thank you! Your deep honesty helps me.

    Much admiration and appreciation. I’ll be woo-woo and say “I am here for you. If you do it (heartfelt awareness and courage) I will too .” It ain’t easy we both know. Thank you. Very very best to you.

  10. David, I can so well (right word?) identify with your feelings of sadness and even fear about what the future means now. In September 2016, I lost my right eye, just as I was getting back into photography as a hobby, after thirty-some years out of it. I’d just purchased my first DSLR. I also felt tremendously angry at the surgeon who had blundered and left me in this situation. But after several months of recooperating, I gradually picked up the pieces and made some tentative forays into a new way of “seeing,” if you see what I mean. Your courses, which I began taking three or four years ago, have been a powerful motivation and course-correcting experience for me. I’m a far better photographer now than I was before that, although I am continually learning “a better way of seeing,” thanks not just to you, but to so many in the FB group (Vision Driven), notably Terry B (Lifted Spirit) and several others. You brought me into the fold with them and I’m so grateful. You continue to inspire me, as you do others, by what you are going through now, and how you are doing it, discouragement and all. I have to admit, I think I’d rather lose an eye than to lose a foot, but the sense of loss is always there nonetheless. Thanks for all your input into my life.

  11. David, you are an inspiration, not just because you are doing the physical hard thing but also because you are sharing your journey. I’m 20 years older than you and am facing some health challenges right now. Between your words and thoughts – and my own lived experience to date – it’s clear life is a continuous walk (no pun intended!) up and down hills, valleys, flat paths, and sometimes steep terrain. We’re all in this thing called life together…and it helps to remember (daily!) – “we’re all just walking each other home” – Ram Dass.

    Big virtual hugs 🤗 to you!

  12. I lost my 41 year old daughter on June 3rd. Although I have not been able to get back to my camera, your words parallel so many of my feelings. I want to be able to write my story but am unable right now. Your words inspire. Thank you for that. Also my birthday is July 5th and I will be thinking of you on your special day. I met you though Emma Davies photo club. Take care, Katie

  13. Hi David,
    I was kind of relieved to read this blog post. I was worried you might slip into toxic positivity for the sake of your audience. Everything you expressed here makes so much sense. Of course you’re not feeling brave. Of course it’s harder than you expected. Things are much easier when they’re theoretical. I just wanted to tell you that I think you’re remarkable. I hope things start to get easier soon. I know you think you’re writing about your amputation, but it’s really so much more. This particular post really speaks to me. For my own reasons which in no way compare with what you’re going through, I’m also not feeling brave. Once again, you showed up in my inbox with a valuable lesson at exactly the right time. Thank you a million times over. You’re more talented with one hand tied behind your back or…well ok, you get the picture. You have so much to offer and apparently, it doesn’t require your right foot. Too soon? Anyway, I’m rooting for you and my money is on you kicking ass with your new (and improved?) right foot. Take care of yourself. And thank you for your perspective.

  14. David, thank you for sharing your perspectives on your recent amputation, especially about the paradoxical relationship between resilience and hardship. That makes a lot of sense to me. Last December I fractured a kneecap in a fall. Over these past months I’ve had to learn to walk again without walkers and canes. I’m learning how important attitude is in handling hardship.

    Shortly after I read your July 2nd email, I picked up the Boston Sunday Globe and saw a front page article about chronic pain. The article focused on a doctor who does surgery on patients with phantom pain, but also engages in research on pain. I’m attempting to send you links to the article here in case you want more details. (“At the root of chronic pain,” by Felice J. Freyer. The doctor is Kyle Eberlin.)

  15. Your words are exactly how I picture in my mind how it would be! You are truly a gifted writer!
    Wishing you continued positive and healthy steps forward in this new journey of yours!

  16. David- Thank you for including us in your journey. I appreciate your willingness to ask for support. You and I had a brief correspondence about the ‘Let it die” episode of your podcast you did a few years back- I am a minister and mentioned how meaningful that episode was as I knew I was going to have to let the church I co-founded die. I appreciated your comments then, and I appreciate your openness now. Continue taking the steps you need to take, and (echoing everyone else’s words), know that you are loved, appreciated, and held in all of our hearts and minds. Life lived artfully has many twists and turns, and I am thankful to be a small part of yours. Many blessings to you and the loved ones in your family circle.

  17. Thanks for the update. You got outside, Yaayyy!

    Vlad, what a jerk. I’m glad he’s getting bored of you.

    So sorry for the feelings of the brutal dark moments. Glad we’re not responsible to know the future before it happens, just to prepare as we can. You are using your strength to your advantage. Values over feelings!

    Every day brings new input and you are very attentive to input, as well as skilled at assessing it. As the days, and even minutes pass, your perspective is recalculating!

    The MPG gauge on the car says some pretty radical things some times, but it ends up with an average. (I can also reset it! How great is that?) I firmly believe your perspective will balance out, because Is balancing out! And there’s always the reset button. It’s amazing what we can heal from, and the hard things we have the freedom to do, as you said. Especially if we’re being alive. 😉

    Thanks for all you shared.

  18. Can you hear us? We’re all cheering for you. Go David … You exhibit so much more openness and courage than I would generally expect from anyone, including myself. As a 70 year old who has lived his entire life with a physical challenge, I find your honesty causes me to reexamine myself. But, I am in this for the journey, the whole journey. That is really where my interest lies, in the journey. I don’t care if anyone ever sees my photographs; that is not what my journey is about. Thank you sincerely, for sharing yours. Live long and prosper.

  19. Your journey through the tough times post op is a marathon not a sprint (no puns intended!). Here’s hoping that in the long term you will look back at today and say it was worth all the pain and suffering. There is no quick fix just shear minded stubborness and perseverance. You are so positive that you’ll get there. Wishing you all the best for times ahead.
    Well done with the walk. Every step is an upward one.

  20. David, I am humbled by your openness with your journey through these rough times. I have a good friend who lost both her legs in a train incident. She has since been diving in every ocean and sea in the world, been to Africa on Safari and to see the gorillas. She is as amazing a human being as you are. She is willing to share her story and help you in any way possible. Her name is Britta and lives in Germany. If you would like to meet another incredible person she is on what’s app, +49 179 4989092. I’ll leave it up to you. I’m with you and if there’s anything I can do I will. I wish I could send you a picture of her.

  21. David, you are on a long and arduous journey. I wish you the best. I’m not going to offer you advice or share stories of patients or acquaintances as you undoubtedly have a plethora of both. I’ll just say, hang in there. And, thanks for sharing your experiences.

  22. David,
    Based upon recent events, we all know that you are brave. Now it falls to you to show yourself that you are strong. But I would also add “disciplined “ to the mix.

    Your original blog about your amputation injury included a comment about leaving the hospital because of a schedule dictated by your travel agent. You can’t afford to let that happen again. Your rehab – your LONG TERM rehab needs to be a critical part of your life going forward. No – none of us want to look for more constraints on our freedom and our precious time, but this is where the quantity/quality aspect of life looms large in your decision making. Having rehabbed from two knee replacements, and having participated in my wife’s rehab from a heart transplant, I cannot overstate the value of a life-long commitment to rehab followed by identifying and working with a qualified, knowledgeable trainer. (I saw the kettle-bells in the last pic – good start.)

    It didn’t take much courage on my part to have my knees replaced. There are lot’s of people who have been through it to compare notes with. My wife’s courage is undeniable for obvious reasons – not too many people to compare notes with on that one. But her surgery was not really “elective” – it was do or die, basically.

    Your decision to have your amputation bespeaks a a great deal of courage of a very special kind. Winston Churchill once asked the rhetorical question:’Who must do harsh things?” With the answer:”He who can”. You made a harsh decision that was incredibly brave. Now it’s time to dig in and push through.

    I have not been following you nearly as long as many of the above respondents, but it’s obvious that you have a lot of students who are very much your supporters. Please keep sharing your thoughts on, well, everything that you care too. You are an outstanding teacher and Mentor, driven by deep passions. I, for one, am very grateful (and better) for that.

    Be Well.

  23. What doesn’t kill us gives us something to blog about indeed ! That’s a very interesting and thoughtful statement! You are an inspiration – I will have to say that I have not been placed into anything quite needing the bravery you have been faced with. The closest I came to this is potentially losing part of a finger due to staph infection in the middle of covid times (probably best, no one wanted to go to a doctor, so I was able to get immediate appointments). That took me a number of months to recover from, but again nothing like you. My thoughts are with you and keep sharing your journey as I find it very inspiring. My biggest hurtle is some of what you are saying – staying inspired in my photography – particularly when I have been forced to not travel (my partner had his knee replaced, so we have been home bound for 6 months – soon travelling again!) Take Care David – we are all behind you and wishing you the best.

  24. What doesn’t kill us gives us something to blog about indeed ! You may have the phantom agonies and other mental anguish but your bravery and strength shine through – and that you still have that photographic vision you are so good at conveying ! When you don’t feel strong, remember how your current process inspires others, and your ability to blog so openly about it is a massive strength – every time I read your words now I am close to tears of amazement, admiration, sympathy and I suppose what can only be love even though we have never met. I hope you feel every bit of support from your readers, certainly from this one ! Good luck with fittings and learning to walk again !

  25. Thank you David for your profound words. I have shared them with a colleague. She works at a hospital in Vancouver and will share your writings with the therapists who work on the amputee program. I know you will inspire many.
    Sending you well wishes David.


  26. Oh David, I just returned to social media a lot has been going on in my life. I am so sorry I was not here to provide you the support through this time in your life You are my truly my inspiration through my journey of photography.
    I have read all your books 2-3 times and I have such powerful memories of meeting you in San Francisco, coming to Vancouver for your seminar. You have been my true inspiration through this journey of capturing images of life with my camera. I am here David for you and Cynthia if you need anything
    Sending love and respect…..

  27. David, thank you for sharing this challenging part of your life with us. I appreciate being a small part of the community cheering you on. Whether you are writing about photography, the creative process, or the challenges of life, you give me a lot to think about. I’m so glad to hear you are making progress, and that as tough as it is, you can see signs of hope for the future.

  28. David, you have brought me to tears several times over the last four weeks. As a philosopher you can’t be beat. Yes, you are an inspiration. You are a great photographer, but your writing is beyond beautiful. So honest, and strong. This should be read by all who are facing adversity and challenges. Thank you so much for your courage, and strength, and honesty. And for your photography! 🙂

  29. After you finished writing this blog, and your finger was poised over the Enter key, David, I’m guessing that you were wondering whether you were stepping too far outside your lane. You may have thought it inappropriate or overburdening to share your personal trials and your opinions about resilience, strength, and courage, subjects that seem far removed from photography.

    I am so glad that you did hit that Enter key. I’ve printed your article (yes, I’m that old, and old-fashioned) and highlighted the portions that speak to me directly. And, I see from reading some of the other responses, that your words have resonated with them as well.

    I recently turned 70 years old–it seems very unreal to say this–and for all of these 70 years, I’ve suffered from ADHD. It is a disorder that does not disappear with childhood. It may seem trivial compared to the loss of a limb or a loved one, as others have written about here, but ADHD is a debilitating syndrome that is a constant presence. It is both a reason for failing to succeed and an easy excuse to blame for that failure–because, as you wrote, “settling is so much easier.”

    Thank you for posting this article: It is not inappropriate, it is not out of your lane. We who follow your blog are drawn to you for your photographic expertise, of course, but we’re also drawn to you for your humanity. You write about creating photographs with intentionality to tell a story, to highlight and preserve nature, to record and display the wonderful diversity of cultures and humankind. This article is an extension of your self: the same self that comes out in your photographs and in the advice that you dispense.

    Each of us lives as an experiment of one. When one of us shares an insight from their lived experience, there’s always a chance that someone like me can benefit from that insight.

    If I can do hard things, “it makes future hard things a little less hard.” I don’t want to settle–I’m too young for that!

    Thank you.

  30. You may not feel brave but you are. I don’t think anyone who is brave feels that way. I think part of bravery is how outsiders see you. When one is going through a rough spot I think that person just does what they need to do to get to the other side.

    I am a veterinarian. Occasionally I see dogs with recent amputations. Pets are amazing, they don’t have the preconceived thing humans do and they just pick up and move on. I don’t think there is a human out there that would be able to do that so smoothly. It must be frustrating to have the phantom pain when the pain was part of the reason for the amputation. I hope it dissipates soon.


  31. Or those of us who have faced adversity, once you are down, the only way is up.

    Our thoughts are with you for “every step”.

  32. Hi David,
    I “met” you last year and since then, you have been a transformative inspiration in my photographic life. Funny, we really haven’t met, but I feel I know you quite well after taking your courses and reading your blogs.
    Thank you for continuing to inspire me both in photography and now with your bravery in sharing the reality of the difficult journey you are on right now.
    I am so happy you got outdoors!
    I want to let you know you are loved and I am sending you healing thoughts during this difficult chapter in your life.
    Best of luck with the prosthesis fitting and I hope Vlad goes away for good real soon!

    1. Well. That was a lot.
      I read everything. All the thoughts.
      I guess I will just encourage you by saying that I understand very much of what you have written…because I lost a part, too, and I felt phantom pains, too, and I had a HUGE BIG adjustment too, seeing my body differently, and, wondering what was going to happen. Much was similar to what you wrote.
      And…your first nature walk? Me too. I had to be brave, and I needed courage, and I also needed physical strength. As I sat around a meet and greet table the first nite of a photo Trek far away, I introduced myself saying “well, my name is…I’m from…and I’ve just spent the last 2 years fighting cancer”….( and I’m ready to “be whole again”, and, to shoot photos.)
      The same exact first challenge but then followed by a most glorious re-entry into real life again the first time I got into the water for my first next scuba dive, and as soon as I was in the water, I felt whole again, I was me again, and there was probably a long and loud “ahhh” heard for miles.

      So what I am starting to say, is, keep moving forward, keep ignoring any lack of confidence or any regrets about “what was”, and instead move ahead and use “the new you” – I can speak from experience, that you WILL get used to all of this, and I hope my words have encouraged you, and reminded you that you are not alone. You got this.

  33. David, as a keen but very much amateur photographer I have admired and drawn much inspiration by your work for many years and have ‘Within the frame’ on my bookshelf. I have subscribed for years to your newsletters however like many thousands of other emails rarely have time to read them however for some reason this morning I saw yours and opened it.
    I was shocked to hear of your recent amputation and once again In admiration and inspired by this time your honesty, vulnerability and courage. At this time of loss and grief when life brings us experiences of enormous challenge, you’ve found the time and motivation to share your journey with others.
    As an OT I have had the privilege of walking alongside others experiencing their own journeys through various life events and witnessing their highs and lows and am often in awe of human resilience. I also remember hiking the Annapurna Sanctuary many years ago meeting a fellow hiker on crutches who had an AKA following complications from injecting drug abuse many years earlier and being in awe of how he had overcome such adversity to be fulfilling his dreams. May you continue to feel ‘all the feels’ and draw from your inner strength and those around you to continue your recovery. I look forward to your ongoing inspiration in whatever form that takes. Best wishes for the next stage of your journey.

  34. You are a constant inspiration and put into words so beautifully what I can feel but not articulate. This one will stick with me like your fight the funk post during covid times. I wish you and your family lots of love and healing. Go stomp on Vlad. Kia kaha arohanui xxx

  35. Hi David
    I shouldn’t say I enjoyed your writing about this but I did because as usual your piece is thought provoking and I felt it in my heart. Having always felt a link between your writing and my thoughts doing your courses or just reading your articles or books it’s always inspiring. I’m hoping that your writing helps you to get through this interim between what was and what will be and while you sound very brave there must be times when it’s all too much. I hope those walks soon turn into longer explorations soon.

  36. Thank you for sharing this difficult journey, and for being honest and frank. What you are experiencing is unbelievably hard, unimaginably painful. You would be well within your rights to just hide away, to make light of the whole thing to the outside world, and to create a persona that didn’t represent your authentic voice. Instead, you’ve chosen to use your courage to inspire us to think more deeply about the gifts we take for granted. Wishing you continued healing and strength.

  37. David, it’s difficult to read what you are going through. Your attitude is positive and you will overcome the pain and adjustments this journey is taking. Thank you for being so open about your feelings. You and Cynthia are in my thoughts and I pray for strength for both of you.

  38. David, i wish you all the best, so sorry for your leg loss ! I couldn’t write earlier, have been busy with work (14h days) and a lot of other stuff, i am a reader of Craft & Vision, basically when you’ve created it, and bought some of the earlier books, of course.

    I had a fractured ankle, as well as all the root bones fractured in my left foot. Thus, I first had crutches, but could buy food with it and walk with it, especially since I could not shop “so”…and then had worn a special shoe for 9 months, the leg always dragged…I felt like The Walking Dead….in the time. Fortunately everything has healed again, I thought 2019 – that I can never run again in my life.

    All the best from the heart, much strength for this difficult time,


  39. Forgive me as I respond with a lengthy thought to your post “Show Me Where You’re Brave.” My thoughts on this is as much a release for me as is the writing you do for yourself; what I am about to share is critical to my own healing process… sound familiar?
    First, I continue to be amazed by you, your willingness to share your truth, and your capacity to articulate your lived experience. The word resilience resonates with me, and is a term that reflects the capacity to thrive as you survive. I’ve used the word resilience as a way to describe my recent history whenever friends and colleagues ask “how are you doing?”
    You, my friend, lost half a leg… a true tragedy and a challenge,… I lost half of myself.
    My wife and partner of almost 33 years died at age 56 of a neurodegenerative disorder called PSP on April 26, 2023. Tamy and I met in college, married young, and had a relationship that was the envy of everyone I knew. I was a biology teacher, a researcher, and nature photographer… she was a nurse, a naturalist, and nature photographer. We built our life on a mutual passion for environmentalism, travel, photography, and service.
    When Tamy had a major seizure in November 2018, we thought she had epilepsy. While there is nothing good about seizures, epilepsy can be managed with medications, so we continued on as if our life was on track. Shortly after her seizure we went to the Khutzeymateen with the crew of the Ocean Light II, roadtripped from MN through the Canadian Rockies to the Olympic Peninsula, and traveled to the Eastern-most point of the continental US…. Then 2021 happened.
    Anti-convulsants are powerful drugs, and I thought her medications were responsible for a changed gate, short-term memory difficulties, and urinary incontinence. After a year of experimenting with new drugs, reducing her workload at the hospital, and the periods of longterm leave, we discovered in January 2022, that Tamy had Progressive Supranuclear Palsy (PSP). PSP is a devastating neurodegenerative disease that is one part Parkinson’s, one part Alzheimer’s, and one part ALS. With an average life expectancy of 6 years from onset, there is no cure, there are no medicines, and there is no treatment.
    To quote you… “We don’t do hard things because we are resilient; we are resilient because we do hard things.” Like you, I felt as if I had to stare down the demons of impossibility.
    Every day I wondered if I could survive losing my wife, my love, my other half. We chose to be childless, we chose the exclusivity of our bond, and we chose to live and die together.
    Every day I questioned my ability to care for Tamy as she slowly lost her capacity to communicate, her ability to move about, and her ability to care for her body.
    Every day I feared that I could not be selfless enough to give up my dreams, my goals, and my plans so I could care for my partner’s needs.
    Every day I worried that I could not keep Tamy safe, make her happy, and keep her comfortable.
    And every day I feared that I would not be resilient enough to survive the experience, remember the greatness of our lives, and maintain her dignity… a dignity that Tamy earned and deserved.
    Tamy passed away in her sleep next to our dog Luca and I. Her death was premature but peaceful. From the point of her diagnosis to the moment of her death, I feared that I did not have what it took to meet Tamy’s needs, but in the end I found the resilience to care, love, and honor her person in the way she deserved.
    So, I am now a widower and a half person. I live with phantom pains that keep me up at night as I relive both the wonder and tragedy of our life story.
    We are resilient because we survive what seems to be insurmountable… Like yours, mine is an unfinished tale whose ending remains a mystery.
    Thank you for your candor and I wish you well in your recovery as you find a way to embrace your limitations.
    Finally, if you are interested, I am linking my eulogy for Tamy,… like you, I blog as a way to release the demons that reside within.

  40. David, brave and strong are part if your resilience arsenal. Your commitment to keep on keeping on and documenting your process are powerful examples of your strength, courage and commitment to being “not dead”. You are often in my thoughts and my heart. Today I have one wish for you – Death to “Vlad the Impaler”!

  41. Thank you for sharing your journey and your vulnerability. Yours are the only emails that I look forward to receiving at the moment. I love that you are so honest about life. Your take on it really speaks to me. I often read the emails twice to make sure I absorb the content thoroughly. I thank you for your bravery and your ability to put your feelings into words for us.

  42. I always liked reading your contact sheet. Interestingly, now that it’s even more about life and not so much about photography, I like it even better. The way you share your story and your life is unique. No one can make a “newsletter” feel like something a friend would write like you do. Thank you for everything!
    Good luck and stay strong learning to walk again 🙂 and btw, have you read the book “do hard things”? It popped in my mind when I read your mail.
    all the best, Eilwen

    1. I’ve been through my share of hard things and resonate with your observation that resilience is developed through perseverance in hard times.

      I was living in Uganda managing a network of health facilities when the pandemic hit and our family lived in total lockdown for 6 months while I made emergency visits to our hospitals that were often over run with cases, praying our staff would stay healthy, and we’d not run out of drugs.

      We moved back to the US last year and my wife was diagnosed with stage 3 breast cancer. She persevered thru 5 months of treatment and a double mastectomy… the procedure leaves horrible scars for 12 months till they do final reconstructive surgery next May… she’s a been rock star through all of it and her long term outcomes are very positive, but that often gets lost in the day to day slog of managing symptoms, home schooling kids, and living unsettled bc we can’t afford a house in today’s market after 4 years in Uganda (the house we sold when we left in 2018 is now worth more than double).

      While these are extreme circumstances, much like your own, and not ones I’d care to repeat, there’s a deepening that comes with navigating the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune. Ryan Holiday writes in his treatise on stoicism The Obstacle is the Way: “Obstacles are not only to be expected but embraced. Embraced? Yes, bc obstacles are actually opportunities to test ourselves, to try new things, and ultimately to triumph”.

      Tolkien didn’t write stories about the Shire. Or Elvandar. He wrote about unlikely hero’s choosing to walk into the heart of Mordor. The great epics were shaped by conflict and calamity but ultimately triumph. I may not willingly choose my adversity, but I do pursue hard things bc they give life meaning.

      Conversely, we in the west define a successful life by the amassing of comforts and convenience. This is the opposite of what Mary Oliver is pointing to when she writes “I don’t want to end up simply having visited this world”.

      Not sure how to edit this conversation bc it’s the subject of mystics and philosophers for millennia. Only perhaps the words of the Biblical author Paul when he writes: perseverance builds character, and character hope. I pray you find hope, and that this season of life leads to you to unexpected peace and joy.

  43. David, I found your photographer self some years ago (but after your accident) through 5daydeal and like your camera and photo articles and courses, but, to be honest, I follow you as a wise philosopher with remarkable and relevant insights into life. So many of your messages resonate with me (and clearly with several others). I have no doubt that you will find within yourself the strength to move past this major adjustment to your life. Thank you for being you and for sharing your self with all of us.

  44. Whilst you recover, might you consider creating some material on what constitutes a good / great / compelling monograph?
    How does a monograph differ from a collection of great prints? Could it be that a compelling monograph might not consist of just the individually best images? Could it be like a sports team, each position (image) must complement the others – having a collection of brilliant but individualistic players will not necessarily produce a trophy winning team? Of course, these are just suppositions on my part – I’ve never created a monograph. Or, by all means point me at some existing material.
    Wishing you a speedy return to fitness.

  45. Healing is not necessarily bravery. It takes time for the body to heal after any injury, much work is going on inside that we will never see as muscles and tissues regenerate. The mind is everything and days that one feels like quitting, one must throw out the negative and accept the slowness. Our world is so negative that one must constantly work against that. Comparison to what “used to be” before the injury is fruitless . Ambitions change and one must ask “What can I do with what I’ve got?” Every morning I rejoice in what I CAN do as I heal from a cerebellar stroke two years ago. Most functions are back but I never will be what I was before. No, it’s not bravery but to keep on keeping on, the exercises, the frame of mind, acknowledging the small victories. Grateful for what one has, not depression for what one has lost. You will photograph differently, plan your excursions differently, love what you have done. Bravo, I know you can do it!

  46. David,

    Thank you for keeping us posted on your progress. I admire your courage and determination. It inspires so many of us. I wish you everything of the best for the 5th. I know you will go much further than you can imagine now.

    1. Thank you for saying all the things I haven’t found words for as I am going through my own health challenges..

      I am encouraged by your courage and strength. Continuing to pray for your healing and happy that you are outside, hiking & photographing your journey.

  47. Great article on the hard things and being strong and having courage. Thankfully, I never considered unbeing dead an option, and clearly you don’t either! Wishing you a speedy recovery and great adventures with your new foot as it comes into being!
    And I appreciate you sharing your amputation journey; my nephew lost most of his left hand to an amputation due to an accident two years ago, and reading your story lets me reflect on that trauma and supporting him and his family through it.

    1. Thank you for sharing your journey. My then 84 year old dad went through a major life changing medical event and we created posters of affirmations for him. His favorite said “Tough times don’t last. Tough people do” he had very medical provider who ever helped him sign this and it hangs in his living room today. He is now 90 and still going strong…with setbacks every day. I’m also a believer in “it takes a village” which clearly you have. Keep it up!!

    2. Thank you for sharing your journey. My then 84 year old dad went through a major life changing medical event and we created posters of affirmations for him. His favorite said “Tough times don’t last. Tough people do” he had very medical provider who ever helped him sign this and it hangs in his living room today. He is now 90 and still going strong…with setbacks every day. I’m also a believer in “it takes a village” which clearly you have. Keep it up!!

  48. Dear David
    Your irrepressible spirit comes through so strongly in these posts.
    i have no doubt that you will be “on your feet” literally and figuratively in very little time.
    You are much more than a photographic inspiration.
    Strength to you my friend.

  49. Hang in there! Your updates are appreciated. Keep being honest about the struggle. We all have struggles in different ways and need to hear the reality that we are not alone. Life sucks sometimes but we can push on and sometimes we can just feel sorry for ourselves for a bit and then push on. Praying for you as you heal and struggle with the process!

  50. Hi David. Thank you for sharing your journey with us. I suffered an amputation several years ago. Mine was an index finger amputation on my dominant left hand. It was sudden and unanticipated. It took me several months of hard work to get to where I was able to live what I considered a normal life afterward. But we are a resilient species. I look forward to following your rehabilitation. And, I’m rooting for you making a thoroughly successful recovery.
    All the best,
    David Davidson

    1. Your vulnerability will buoy you through – as well as relaxing into the caring arms of family and medical staff. I shattered my tibia in a minor bike accident in 2013. 6-hour surgery to reconstruction my leg and 2 years of severe pain to heal (partially). I remember waking up from surgery and looking down at my elephant size silken leg and marveling that it was straight again! Miracles of modern surgery! I was in bed for 6 months with my leg above my heart at all times. Humbled by sponge baths from my husband, his kindness at 3am to come and change a stinking bedside potty. All the kindness from friends who came and sat for a visit. My sister-in-law bringing her kids to clean my house on my birthday with my favorite chocolate raspberry cake. SO many kindnesses as I had to just lie back and receive for possibly the first time in my life. Receive all the kindness and be patient with yourself. I also got counseling to adjust to having a disability after such an active life – depression is a healthy response like a high fever as both need care for healing. Take care of both physical and mental health. Kind regards

  51. YOU are strong and YOU are brave. Thank you for sharing your journey. Inspiring. One can get through anything with the right mindset.

  52. Thanks for sharing your story, David. I’m sorry you’re having such a difficult time, but I have no doubt that it’s all going to work out in the end.

    Many people treat athletes and other public figures as heroes, but I’ve long thought that was misguided, and that the real heroes are ordinary people quietly dealing with, and overcoming, extraordinary challenges. Your story exemplifies that for me. Your bravery, strength, and honesty are inspirational. Keep plugging away; you’ll get where you want.

  53. Thank you for putting into words so much of what I’ve been feeling as I navigate (a very different) post-surgical journey of healing and look down the road to another surgical hurdle later this year. So much resonated in your post that I’m printing out sections of it to post at my desk – thank you, thank you for your courage and honesty.

  54. Thank you for your profound courage and inspiration! We are all cheering for you every moment of the way!

  55. Thank you so very much David for sharing your journey with us. That too is a risk and difficult thing to do. It’s a cliché that you are an inspiration but you truly are. You’re walking a path (albeit right now with crutches…step hobble step hobble) that most would not even contemplate considering. Most would settle. Your words “To give up on dreams and allow ourselves to fade away from being the person we are becoming and slide into the great mass of humanity that is resigned not to live artfully, not to risk the possibility that their one life could light sparks beyond what we believe ourselves capable” really struck a cord with me as being fairly newly retired but not ready to join the daytime gameshow armchair crowd. I want to take my lifelong passion for photography and make it a “second career” of sorts…65 is the new 45??? Your words are fueling me to move forward and ignore the risks. Thank you. Please continue to grit your teeth and move forward!!

  56. Glad that you have been able to get outside finally. Recovery takes time and you have definitely endured a life changing event. Your blogging or journaling is your creative space right now. Keep up the physical therapy . It’s one day a time. Keep being brave.

  57. David, your recounting of this journey and its physical, emotional, and mental outcome is, on its own, a message about life, living, and how it goes on and has to be faced. It is a message that I am saving to be reread and forwarded to those around me who may be facing similar events. Thank you for your candor and exceptional writing skill. Good luck with all that you do.

  58. Brother David, I’ve sat in the background reading your story and trying to figure out who is cutting onions while reading about all of this. Your words strike at my very being and your waxing outside of photography speaks to that part of me who has endur d my own personal struggles. The idea has sparked about a trip up to BC from my base camp here in Oregon. Maybe at some point in the near future we can finally meet face to face where I can shake your hand and thank you in person for your creative insights and wisdom – and that isn’t something g I flippantly say to anyone. You’re an inspiration to this old dawg who has all but had his creativity snuffed out these past few years. Keep strong my friend from afar 🙏🏻


  59. Phantom pain, now that strikes a nerve… Lots of them in fact, and yes, pun intended. Some 30 years ago I was shot in the leg and the bullet partially severed, the sciatic nerve in my thigh, along with breaking my femur. I was feeling very fortunate to be alive, because I did not bleed out as the bullet just missed my femoral artery because it hit the bone. The doctor told me had the bullet been an eighth of an inch lower, it would have severed the femoral artery in my right leg, and had the bullet been an eighth of an inch higher. It would have shattered the femur in my right leg and tore all the way through my left leg and I probably would’ve bled out before they could’ve done anything for me. But back to that severed, sciatic nerve, I don’t know that my phantom pain has ever gone away. Yes, it got much better. But not for almost a year (which is probably not what you want to hear.) far too many opioids, anti-seizure medication, and even psychotropics. He had almost a year in I had become manic depressive, which my doctors attributed mostly to my drug cocktail and against their better wishes I went off of everything cold turkey. No, the gun shot did not kill me, but the drugs almost dead, and where I found my strength was finally being able to say no to the drugs. Enough was enough. After a month or so of withdrawal, and then a couple months of learning pain management, I was starting to be able to put my foot on the ground without experiencing , the equivalent of your sabers. Mine was burning hot needles being stabbed into the bottom of my foot. I knew none of it was real. I knew there was nothing I could change to alter the physiology and that’s the only thing I could change was what my brain did with it.
    They kept telling me I would recover, but I knew better, and I think you do too. I was never going to regrow that nerve in my leg just like you’re never going to regrow a foot. Now some 30 years hence I have what I feel learned a new way of living away that has allowed me to return to many of the activities I did prior to this event. I cycle, I rock climb. I play volleyball, but I do not run. I suspect U2 will learn a new way of living, I would challenge you to think of it as learning an entirely new and different form of photo editing, software something you have done a timer to before, but this time around the tools, the methodologies the macros they will all be in your head, and instead of having a screen You’re going to be operating in virtual reality. And the next time somebody tells you that it’s just phantom pain, you can tell them, bullshit! The nerves that were once attached to that foot or still attached to my brain, and what I feel is real there’s nothing phantom about it .

  60. You are an inspiration to many of us in photography,and now in life. Life is like a river flowing on ,over and around rocks,never deterred flowing on and on. Keep your head up and move on like a river.

  61. Wow… brave yes… courageous most certainly… determination absolutely… what an incredible journey to a new life… you inspire us/me with your approach to living

  62. As I have discovered in my 65 years, courage is doing something even though you already know it is going to hurt. Whether the hurt is physically, mentally, emotionally or spiritually you do it because you know that the action will eventually make life for you or others better. That does not make the journey any easier to endure but at least there is hope to hold on to.
    Thank you for being so honest and vulnerable.

  63. Dear David,
    Thank you so much for doing this article. My husband, Jim, was an amateur photographer (also hiker and dog lover), and although he died on September 30, 2022, I still received your e-mails and have been following your recent medical journey.
    This article really hit home. Jim and I met on July 5 1984 and fell in love on July 6, 1984. I have been dreading this coming week of anniversaries. Our journey was a beautiful love story and losing him has broken who I once was. I am feeling neither brave not strong, and find it harder than I had the capacity to expect – just as you wrote so well. We initially had a 2 ;year long distance relationship and wrote extensively during that time, and I plan of reading those ‘love letters’ we both kept in the next few days.
    When Jim was dying, in excruciating pain from metastasized cancer and shingles, I was brave, doing all I could to reduce the pain, keep him comfortable and relaxed, and I also didn’t have the capacity to realize how the eternal future without him would be. Your article parallels my intense grief so closely, and I am sure there are other grieving as I do that see the similarities. Looking back, before I met Jim 39 years ago this week, I overcame many very difficult times and yes, the strength and courage is there within us, we just have to know it.
    David, I wish you continued strength and hope your recovery will be uncomplicated, not too painful, and you will continue to look forward to wonderful hikes in mountains and valleys. I grew up in Switzerland, so I understand your longing.
    Many thinks for your wisdom and insight, which will help me navigate this coming week. Warmly, Jill Caid

  64. Hi David,

    Your words always resonate so deeply. Thank you for sharing with such an open heart. As another commenter stated, it is hard to see you go through this pain. Your sharing of it, though, is a call for us to show up with courage – courage to witness, courage look within, and courage to just be here in this space for you even if we only take the time to read your words without ever leaving a comment. And that is a gift you give us. Thank you.

  65. David
    I needed to hear this so much. Thank you so much for sharing.
    I am struggling with food cravings, compulsive eating, and being overweight as a result. Not huge overweight, but enough to know it adversely has affected me physically too, with some foot and leg and hip injuries.
    Yesterday I took some steps to lean into the hard task of changing my ways. Mental acknowledgment and confrontation. Educating myself. Starting back at the gym. Gentle but positive changes in my diet. These are all super hard for me. My challenge and fears of the moment. I just want my salty pretzels.

    Your journey and struggle and doing hard things is hugely more life changing than mine. I can only barely imagine what it must be like, and that is only because you are writing about it.

    Thank you so much for your honesty and humbleness. And your beautiful humor.

    It is fantastic seeing you outside in nature, smiling.

  66. David, what a ride you are on. There use to be a sign in the Texas travel center after you cross the state line from Oklahoma to Texas. It read, “You may hate it now, but you will love it in the future.” It was explaining the road construction down I-35 south and how in the future it would be well worth the hassle and aggravation drivers were experiencing at the time. I think you will love it in the future. I can’t imagine phantom pains, or for that matter sharing a hospital room. But I know you’ve got this. You have inspired me for many years and you continue to do so. Just remember: You will love it in the future.”

  67. You have always been inspiring … photography, creativity … and now life. You are one of the bravest people I know. Thank you for sharing your journey.

  68. You cannot begin to imagine how much I needed to hear these words right now, David. Your words were an arrow straight to my heart. Thank you for your continued willingness to share your story and truth with the rest of us. It matters more than you will ever know.

  69. In a few months your are going to love what those couches have done for your upper body strength.

  70. Thank you for your courage in bringing us along on this difficult journey with you. I’ve followed you for many years and have many of your books and monographs, which I cherish for the inspiration they provide. I appreciated the lovely monographs and wallpaper you let us have a few months ago–they’re lovely and moving, as is all of your work. I’m so impressed with the way that, even though this new path is hard and painful, you persist in growing through it and then sharing your growth with us, providing inspiration and encouragement as we face the hard and painful aspects of our own lives. I wish you so much goodness. Your being in this world has been a blessing.

  71. Thank you again for being so open in sharing this road you’re on… as others have said here, your words touch me in places I need to heal in my own life.

    I’m excited to hear about your adventures with your new prosthesis. I, too, am amazed that you’ll be able to walk so soon after surgery.


  72. It’s amazing to read what you’ve written since the beginning of June. I am also amazed by people like you and Rick Allen (drummer for Def Leppard) that take their situation and use it in a manner that can support others. A conscious choice to use your fear, pain and struggle to be useful and helpful to others is a lesson that never gets old.

  73. Dear David,
    We tend to imagine that courage is being without fear. The truth is the exact opposite. If it weren’t for fear, courage would be nothing but a meaningless word.
    Courage, my friend, and many blessings.

  74. You’ll never understand how badly I needed to hear these very things this morning. Thank you for sharing your pain, fear, hope, and everything in between. These things need to be loosed into the world, thank you for sending them out there.

  75. David….you are an inspiration!! You are so articulate about your journey and I’m sure it helps a lot of us to read about it. Thanks you!

  76. Courage is about moving through fear. And you’re right. We usually don’t display it until we have no choice. But the power of courage as an experience can be life changing. On the other side you’re stronger, more resilient, more capable to doing hard things. Is that too high a price to pay? That’s something everyone has to decide for themselves, but those steps into the unknown will change you, most likely for the better. Hang in there. I suspect and hope the most difficult days are behind you. And the days ahead will be what you make of them. Make them full of gratitude, love and wonder. Isn’t that ultimately what it’s all about?

  77. My husband lost his leg in 2020 due to cancer, so we are a couple years down the road you are traveling. The phantom pain is real! But thankfully it’s been reduced to almost nothing with the prosthesis. We laugh when he says, my foot itches, and I reach down to nothing and scratch it for him. Since the amputation was due to cancer, we didn’t have the questioning thoughts of should we or shouldn’t we like you did. It was the right time and the right decision for us after years of coping with a gimpy leg that wasn’t working right. John often says the hardest part was not losing the leg but having to trade in his 6-speed manual MINI cause he couldn’t drive that anymore.
    Congrats on the hike! Hiking on crutches sounds daunting. John has used crutches so much we replace the feet on them regularly as the rubber wears down the grip. But as his leg has gotten more comfortable and normal he uses them so much less. I love when he says this feels completely normal.
    We’re still figuring out how to live life fully. He just finished 30 days of radiation and 6 more doses of chemo because the cancer moved to his shoulder. The biggest fear is having to remove that arm next. But our doctor says she’s not going to let us go down that road for a long time.
    Keep your chin up! If you ever want to chat with someone who’s been down this before, we’re happy to connect and listen. Same for Cynthia. Being a caregiver isn’t easy. Be nice to her! She loves you!

  78. I have followed your work, and received your newsletter and bought many of your books over the years. I’ve always admired your work, your generous, sharing it with all of us and you are a wonderful way to teach and inspire so many photographers, including myself. I remember reading about your accident all those years ago, and of course I had no idea it would end up like it has. Your bravery and honesty is still incredibly inspiring as is your continued, creative light and delight. I recently read a wonderful new book. It’s one of the top books of the year called tomorrow tomorrow tomorrow by Gabrielle Zevin. It’s a novel about two friends, who come together as Creative partners in the world a video game design where is success brings them joy, tragedy, duplicity and ultimately it kind of immortality. In the book they first meet when Sam is in the hospital having been in a terrible accident and severely injuring his foot . Sam is very protective himself, and about his foot and the physical pain he has to endure and as the pain gets worse and worse later in the book, he has his foot amputated. The majority of the book is about the wild world a video game design, which is quite interesting and something I did not know much about but of course the pain he endures shapes who he is as a man. Anyway, I thought that you might really enjoy reading the book , I have recommended it to many people and all enjoyed it and as I said, it’s one of the top books of the year. Reading has always been a wonderful refuge for me along with my art practice. I think we once won an award together – I won it and then you won it. I can’t even remember , I still shoot the changing tribal world in Asia and Africa and often in the US there are many tribes and many wonders. I send you so many good wishes and hope you continue to progress to have less pain and to be out there in adventuring again.
    Thanks again for all you do !!!
    I still take a sheet of some things you recommend to think about when I travel and shoot !

    All warm wishes
    Terri Gold

  79. David,
    Hard to read what you are going through. Inspiring.
    I know you will do well with whatever is to come. Rooting for you.

  80. David,
    Thank you again for being so vulnerable and sharing your thoughts and fears with us. The statement about not having the capacity to expect is so true. You have faced your fear by being brave and taking the next step (literally) into the unknown. Love yourself and your body for getting you to this point. I look forward to your blog every week. I have been teaching photography to high schoolers for 20 years. I often share your podcasts and have purchased your books for my AP students . In a world of comparing and social media, they yearn for being real. You are an inspiration for me and my students.
    Thank you! Kellie

  81. David thanks for sharing your vulnerable self -you continue to inspire – I am curious how you take these learnings into how you now approach your photography. What has shifted when you now pick up the camera ?

  82. You are such a an inspiration, David, thank you for sharing these scary and innermost feelings. We all need to be reminded to step into the unknown each day, it’s certainly not the first choice for most of us!

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