The story goes like this…

In high school, I was an all-star cross-country runner. I was easily the fastest guy not just on my team, but in our entire county. So going into my senior year the expectation was high that I would lead us to our first state championship. To my coach, my teammates, and most everyone at my school, I was a sure thing. But as the race took off, I got a terrible cramp in my left side. Something like that had never happened to me before, and it definitely slowed me down. I went from leading to the pack to the back of the pack in a matter of seconds. I passed my coach, who was screaming for me to get it together and pick up the pace. But it was too late; I was done. Just then I passed by my mom in bleachers. There she was, smiling from ear to ear and cheering me on as if I was still in the lead. After the race my mom found me in tears, sitting in an old dugout with my head in my hands. She reminded me that life was so much bigger than a race, that I finished well, and that she was proud of me. That one conversation shaped so much of who I am today. I was the recipient of positivity and encouragement in the midst of a failure, and that’s what I want to be for other people now. I try to always choose positivity first. I want to step in and lead others with love and encouragement before anything else. I think speaking life into people when they need it most is one of the best things we can do for each other.

The story goes like this…

The first millennial babies came into the world in 1981, the year I was born. Ever since then I’ve been working overtime to figure myself out and how my story fits into the bigger story of what’s happening around me. So far, it’s been a blast. However, the “normal” categories of life have mostly evaded me. I’ve always sorta felt like a walking bundle of contradictions.

The story goes like this…

I was a pre-pubescent 10^th grader, experiencing the new freedoms of a driver’s license. One day after school, I decided to grab a milkshake from Sonic before a meeting with my football coach. But this wasn’t just any milkshake. It was a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup Sonic Blast! So…. As I’m walking from the parking lot back towards the school, I cross paths with my Math teacher heading home for the evening. As she approaches I politely say “Have a good night.” She replies, “You too, see you tomorrow.” A few moments later, I heard a hopeful voice from behind me say, “Is that a milkshake?” I stop. I turn. The voice belonged to my math teacher. We are all alone on the sidewalk, about 15 steps away from each other. I reply, “Yes.” (a short pause) “May I have some?” No part of me wanted to share my milkshake with my weird obese Math teacher, but I figured it was a good investment since she would be grading my arithmetic for the next 7 months. So…. I say, “Sure.” As we walk towards each other, I look down at my milkshake and notice three very important details. 1. There was a straw. 2. There was a spoon. And 3. I hadn’t eaten much of it yet. So I figured she can use the spoon or the straw, and whichever one she chooses I’ll throw away. Perfect plan. I extend the milkshake, expecting her to take it from my hand; instead she neglects both the straw and the spoon and thrusts her entire hand into the cup and shovels out a heap of milkshake. I watch in horror as she tilts her head back and lets the milkshake ooze off of her bare hand into her mouth. She politely thanks me and walks away. I was in Shock. In the blink of an eye, my delicious token of 16 year old freedom had been ruined. I don’t think I had more than a couple bites of that milkshake…. I had no choice but to throw it away.

The story goes like this…

There’s this hidden dirt road that I like to run on in Milton, Georgia. I love it specifically because the trail is a quiet, serene getaway in the midst of a highly suburban town. One day after my run, I was happily strolling down the path cooling down with my headphones in. All of the sudden, out of the corner of my left eye, I see three massive objects coming at me full speed. Before I could make out what they were, I was sprinting again. I looked back over my shoulder and saw three giant turkeys barreling after me, about five feet away, with claws the size of Texas. In a futile attempt to scare the savage beats off I barked and growled until I eventually reached a steep incline and knew I had a decision to make: try and outrun the birds or fight back. I went with option number two. I turned, faced my attackers, an unleashed a round of kicks and screams that sent turkey after turkey airborne. As feathers were flying, a man drove up the street on a lawnmower. I figured he’d heard my terrified bellows and had come to my rescue. Wrongo. He pulled up close and proceeded to park himself in the middle of the street to videotape my showdown with the wild turkeys. I yelled for help and asked what I should do as they kept charging at me, talons first. He simply replied, “Uh, just keep kicking them. I ain’t ever seen anyone do that before.” Seconds later, a random truck pulls up behind me—my saving grace. I jumped over the tailgate and collapsed, safe at last.

The story goes like this…

After a week spent photographing an epic adventure in Iceland, my wife and I arrived at the airport to return home just in time for our plane to take off… without us. I had mixed up our arrival and departure times and subsequently left us with a late arrival home, an extra day in Iceland, and a little bit less in our bank account. I’m the kind of guy who wants to make the most of a situation so, instead of sulking at the airport, I reserved two spots at the Blue Lagoon. We calmed down in the waters of the hot springs, and I even slapped some white silica mud on my face just to get a laugh from my wife. As we were headed out, a man stopped us in the parking lot, waving excitedly and pointing to the sky as he shouted, “Northern Lights!” Unbelievable. I’d been looking for the Northern Lights our entire trip, but had resigned myself to the fact that I wasn’t going to catch a glimpse of them this time around. And then, all because of that missed flight, there we were, standing right before them. As I unpacked my gear to finally snap those long awaited photos, I was reminded that sometimes the inconvenient detours are the ones that end up taking us to the places we wanted to be all along.

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A month after the Tsunami devastated Japan’s northeastern coast, I found myself in Tokyo for the first time in years during a break before starting a new job in the US.  A random girl walked up to me in a Japanese church and suggested that if I had some free time during my trip, I should go help out at a Tsunami relief shelter a few hours north.  In my life I’ve rarely felt so strongly that I needed to drop everything and do something.  I bought a train ticket, and when I arrived, a British Male-Model met me at the station and gave me a tour of the destruction that had taken place before bringing me to HQ; the second story of a convenience store now being powered by generator.  What ensued over the next week will forever be some of the most joyful, heartbreaking, debilitating, and inspiring experiences I’ve ever had.

The story goes like this…

I was visiting my hometown for the weekend and had just arrived at a restaurant to meet my two childhood best friends for dinner. They’re chronically late, and so it wasn’t unusual for me to find myself waiting for them to arrive. After about ten minutes, it started to rain. As I made my way to the entrance, this really sweet guy who had been nearby on his phone held the door open so I could go in before him. And as I did, I was bombarded with camera flashes and shouts of “Surprise!” I couldn’t believe it! It was about a week before my birthday, and I never suspected that my hometown friends would have gathered together to celebrate. I stood in the doorway waiting for my eyes to adjust from the camera flashes and gave a genuine, “Oh my gosh, you guys!” But just as the last word came out of my mouth, my eyes adjusted, and I realized that I couldn’t find the faces of my best friends. In fact, I couldn’t find any face I recognized. I knew literally none of these people. And that’s when it dawned on my: it wasn’t my surprise. As it turns out, the surprise was supposed to be for the guy standing behind me who had politely stopped to hold the door for me in the rain. And how did I repay him? By stealing his surprise.