What’s meant for me?

The hardest lesson is this: what’s meant for me will find me.

Actually, take that back. That’s the easy part.

Faith. Chill. Hang out in the cut. If it’s for me, it will find me. Got it.

The hard part is the flip side of that feel-good platitude. And it’s always been the hardest part.

It’s this: what’s not meant for me is not meant for me.

See, often what’s not meant for you will still find you. And you will think because it found you or maybe because you found it, it just might be meant for you too. That void you’re feeling, this thing you stumbled upon could probably fill it.

Kristi and I were supposed to go to a movie. We shared a few laughs on a haunted house group hang as was custom in the late 1900s. A movie, I thought, was the logical next step. She concurred over the phone and a time was set.

My parents dropped me off at the mall.

I waited.

And waited (no cell phones. It was 1993).

Across from the movies was an arcade. I played NBA Jams until I ran out of all quarters but one, then waived a lonely boy white flag and called my mom to come pick me back up.

Fuck. Stood up.

Kristi was not even remotely the kind of person that had anything of interest to say to me, nor I to her, but the rejection dripped like lemon juice in an open paper cut.

What I didn’t know at that moment was that she already had a thing for Damon (a friend of mine) and changed her mind at the last minute.

They got married right out of high school and are still happily together.

No hard feelings. She was absolutely not meant for me.

Emily, who I met roughly seven years later, absolutely was.

Today, as an artist, I still wrestle with my dumb ego when trying to determine what is and isn’t worth chasing.

Full transparency: getting to shoot wrestling and concert photos was a dream come true and I wanted (in theory) to be THE go-to guy for shooting every wrestling event and concert that came through town. I know that sounds ridiculous. I don’t actually want to go to most things. Where would I even park?

I only have four years left with kids in the house and I want to be there when they are, which will be less and less as these years tick off.

And I have met wonderful people who do just as good of a job/quite often better job than me at shooting the things I love. Why begrudge them for getting to do the same thing that brings me so much joy?

I’ll tell you why. The fear of losing my imaginary spot and not hustling enough to be seen as a working artist/photographer can be strangely crippling.

But what if I could just see that I lost a gig because there was a more perfect one for me waiting a few years down the road? Would that change my perspective? If I knew there was an Emily of my artistic career on the horizon, how much more could I enjoy this present moment of just playing NBA Jams until my mom shows up?

What’s meant for me will find me.

What’s meant for you will find you.

What’s not meant for us is passing us by for a reason.