We've had just the most miserably cold and rainy weekend. Neel said that if you'd told him it was November instead of late April, he'd have believed you. My fingers are cold, my nose is cold. I'm cold. By Sunday, I thought I'd spend the afternoon warming up to the film photos of our trip to Clearwater Beach, FL and the Phillies' Spring Training. I'm not gonna lie. We've traveled all over the world, and this was one of our best vacations ever.

If you have even the barest interest in baseball, I can't recommend Spring Training enough. Follow a team religiously like some in this family follow the Phillies? Well, it's practically a requirement. At Spring Training, every thing is like the MLB, writ small. Ball parks are smaller and friendlier. Crowds are more manageable. Ticket prices too.

We got to Florida right at the start of the Spring Training Season, so we got to see Opening Day ceremonies for the Phillies, the Yankees and the Astros. We sat behind home plate, like directly behind home plate, for all three. Cal lined up for autographs at all three parks, and the players and coaches were approachable, friendly and happy to oblige. In town, Clearwater and Clearwater Beach, home to the Phillies, was like little Philadelphia. Dinner at local dives could have been as easily in Jersey as it was steps away from crystal-clear water and sugar sand. The crystal-clear water and sugar sand is somehow better. Florida retirees work the ballparks as ushers and ticket takers, and let me tell you, that looks like one sweet gig. Our waiter at one restaurant asked Neel if he was from Philly and proceeded to pull out his cellphone and show us pictures of the hoagie the last time he was "back home." Our neighbor Paul, in Tampa visiting family, texted that he was at the game, and we had a long chat. He lives down the street and it was the first time we'd seen him in months. I swear, it's the happiest place on earth. It's warm, so everyone is happy. It's pre-season, so everyone is happy. Hope springs eternal at Florida ballparks in March.

I'll be honest. I could have used a bit better balance between beach and ballpark, and I'll share my beach shots next week, but honestly? There's nothing like stepping on an airplane that has to be de-iced before it can take off, and getting off of said plane to sunshine, palm trees and 80º. Neel and I had a lot of time to talk while we watched Cal vie for autographs, and we decided that this was indeed the life. Our new life plan? Retire and move to Florida and work at Phillies Spring Training Games. We think we might start next year.

*Kodak Portra 400, shot on a Pentax K1000*

I know, I know. It's Monday. I'm not even supposed to be here until tomorrow, right? I just had the most amazing conversation about photography, or any creative endeavor really, last week and I couldn't wait to get the words on the page. To come here and share it with you guys. And let's face it. I know I said I was okay with turning 45, but I'm still not sure how long I wanted my mug hanging out there on my homepage on the internet. Part of aging comes learning discretion, right? RIGHT?!?!

I can't even remember how it started, (I'm super forgetful these days.) but we started talking about that age-old creative's dilemma between having a consistent style vs. becoming a one-note. I said, and acknowledged at the time that I know I sound lame when I do say it, that I actually think about this a lot. See? Lame. How do you find the balance? How many Instagram accounts have I unfollowed after a few months because it's the same/similar photo over and over? And yet, YET! How many artists are doing mediocre work because they are trying too many different things and mastering none?

I continue to work to find my voice as a photographer. You might say that artistically it's my biggest project. Sure, I love that white wall in my little studio and you'll see me shoot a million things from eggs to flowers to cookies in front of it. But I also like to take pictures of Cal and the ocean and Neel and my beagle and the flowers in our back yard and a random beautiful doorway and the light that pours through my living room window. So where's the thread? How can I be all these things and still consistent? How can I spread all these pictures on a table and have you still know they are all me? Maybe it's the color palette, maybe it's the light I like, but I think these are just part of what makes a voice.

As we batted this conversation around the table, my friend Dave landed on what I think is the deep, deep truth of the matter. A million people have said it, all far better than I. And it boils down to this: practice your craft. "People come listen to Yo-Yo Ma," he said, "whether he's playing folk music or classical, because he shows up everyday to the practice room knowing that his scales aren't perfect."

Yo-Yo Ma. Everyday. Knowing he isn't perfect. Facing those scales every damn day.

Practice your craft. Batting practice. Showing up at the page. Playing scales. Whether you shoot weddings or newborns, make sure you pick up the camera (or whatever your instrument of choice) just for yourself. Do it creatively. Give yourself a personal project that inspires you and pushes you. Do it technically. Dive deeply into that new lens you got or explore a different lighting technique. It's only when you push yourself for yourself, not to meet a quota or when a client is paying you, that you'll really grow. When you think, "hey I think I want to try this," and you go out and try it, well, that's when the real fun begins.

And what if you're like me and you're already shooting for yourself? Well, that's when batting practice matters most I think. I truly believe that I'll only find and refine my voice as an artist if I continue to step into the cages and swing at pitch after pitch. If I stare at page after page. If I sit down to practice scale after scale.

If it works for Yo-Yo Ma, why can't it work for me? Batting practice? Playing scales? Same/Same.

spring training on film

playing scales