I’d have courage, right?
I will likely have the opportunity to talk with one of my photographic idols this weekend. Last time we met, we had a lovely conversation and I followed up with an email. We’re friends on Facebook (who isn’t, though?). And once he left me a very sweet comment about one of my photographs. The thing is, that’s not enough for me. I want to pick his brains in the worst way. I want to ask him what I’m missing in my images, what I need to do to catch a break, why I see so many half-assed hacks out there earning money doing what I want to do and why I can’t have the same job. But I don’t know that 1) this particular event is really the time to ask (there’ll likely be a few hundred people there also wanting to talk with him) and/or 2) if I really want the answers to those questions.
The esteem in which I hold this man is immense. Seriously. His images are iconic in the music world. He’s RIGHT HERE! If I don’t at least attempt to ask him for his input, I will never know if he sees in me what some others have. Part of me feels like I’m so close to having something happen. Part of me feels like I’m too much of a damn dreamer. Part of me thinks it doesn’t matter what the hell anyone, even this guy, thinks of me. And then there’s that part of me that’s the eager little teacher’s pet looking for a fucking gold star and a pat on the head.
I have no courage at the moment. I think, “well, I’m going to be in the same room with him, I’ll at least talk with him. That’s enough.” Then I think, “look, if you don’t ask, perhaps you’ll miss out on the key to unlock the door between you and your dreams!”
And then my little yellow heart quivers in fear and basically wets itself while ducking behind the door of doubt and confusion.
Where is my nerve?
Put ‘em up! Put ‘em up!
If I only had the nerve.