I come from a long line of working-class survivors. My mother worked 60+ hours a week at a nursing home to support my sister and me on her own. From what I remember, my father often worked as an electrician. My grandfathers both worked for the government, one with the Arkansas Highway Department and the other as a game warden. You can follow my bloodline all the way up to poor immigrants floating across the ocean for a new life. We are survivors, not thrivers.
I was the first to receive a bachelor’s degree, let alone make it through grad school. I am the most fortunate of any that went before me. I wasn’t drafted into a war. I didn’t have to take whatever job I could to provide for my family. I stand up in front of 18 year olds and talk about photography, then moonlight as an editorial photographer. What is there to complain about?
But here is the rub - I feel torn between two worlds. What does contentment look like? What qualifies as success? Is surviving good enough? To most that came before me, survival was the most one could hope for. I find myself in this strange in-between space of leaving a survivalist model but feeling guilty for any opportunity or privilege above and beyond my current situation.
I don’t find that my friends with wealth or privilege deal with this tension. They don’t seem to feel guilt for wanting more. Often their attitude is to assume more/better things are ahead in life - moving to a beautiful/enjoyable place, having a job they like, traveling and experiencing this vast world on a whim, etc… There’s no ill intention. It is just their reality. These experiences are commonplace.
Hope is commonplace.
Please don’t think that I haven’t experienced some of these pleasures. By far, I lived the most privileged life out of any that came before me. I don’t know if my ancestors felt happy, or at the very least content. I can only assume that their ability to dream was limited by the borders of their existences. But for sure I don’t feel satisfied with all that I have accomplished, which leads to an enormous amount of guilt.
In the last year, I’ve achieved a huge life goal - to regularly work for the New York Times. I know for some reading, this is commonplace. Honestly, I never thought I would be able to make photographs for such a publication. Even more, I’ve worked with some wonderful editors that have given me freedom, respect, and support. Truly, I can’t express what a validating experience it has been.
How could I want more? What would more even look like? I don’t know that my imagination is capable of dreaming for much more. Maybe my children’s aspirations will feel more commonplace than my own. Maybe they can hope and dream for more. But, you know, I would like to keep seeing how much further this ride will go for me.
Thanks for reading. I really appreciate your attention. In a small way, this helps contend with my ever crippling loneliness here on this island in the middle of Tennessee.
In my experience as a working photographer, we are taught a survivalist mentality that comes with the work, and finding ways to shift out of that mindset has been healthy for me. This line of work may have felt different to you, but I wonder about that interplay between personal life/family history and our craft work.
Thanks for sharing your insight.