Perspective
Many things seem capable of making me happy, just as many can pull me the other way. More and more, it feels less about the things themselves and more about how I’m standing in relation to them.
I see it play out often. Last weekend I made a video and shared it across my usual channels. As expected, there was very little response. No real praise, no criticism either — just silence. That familiar absence landed harder than I’d like to admit, especially because I’d tried something different and shared something that felt meaningful to me.
This weekend unfolded differently. I gave myself a small photography project — nothing ambitious. I enjoyed writing the script, taking the photos, keeping the edit simple and clean. I shared it online too. The response was, once again, minimal. And yet, this time it barely registered.
The situation was almost identical. The reaction wasn’t.
The difference, I think, was the weight I attached to each. The video felt loaded with expectation, as if it were meant to move something forward. The photography was simply something I wanted to do. No future attached. No outcome required.
Writing and shooting have always felt like that for me — a kind of freedom. A place where the process matters more than what comes back. I enjoy the work itself, and that enjoyment seems to carry its own quiet satisfaction.
What this means going forward isn’t clear. I don’t feel the need to define it yet. What does feel certain is that I’ll keep creating — film, photography, whatever form it takes. Not because it guarantees anything, but because it’s something I need to do.
Being able to express yourself creatively — and to do so across different disciplines — feels like a rare kind of freedom. One that’s easy to overlook once it becomes familiar. I’ve worked hard for that freedom. I’ve also lost things along the way. Both seem to belong to the same story.
Later in the afternoon, I filmed my friend Fabio as he prepared to return to Italy and begin teaching. Watching him move after eight months of training was revealing. He’s strong, but there’s a rigidity there — moments where one movement must fully stop before the next can begin.
I don’t see that as a criticism. Just an observation. Filming has a way of clarifying things like that.
It made something else clear too. If I want my own practice to look the way it does in my mind, strength and flexibility won’t be enough. There has to be softness. Not just in the body, but in how movement connects and continues.
How to get there is still an open question. I suspect it will come through contrast — fast and slow forms working together — and through trusting that the vision I’ve carried since the beginning isn’t misplaced.
Tomorrow is Monday.
Another chance to train, to play, and to move a little closer — without needing to name exactly where that is.