Why Should We Bother? Because It Matters.

It's so easy to become complacent, And complacency breeds stagnation.

Welcome to In The Frame.

It’s been a minute… let me explain.

I just finished the hardest five weeks I have had in a very long time.

My wife and I finally decided we were going to move.

We have been dreaming (literally) about living in Wyoming for a couple of years now.

I get notices for homes for sale in Cody, Sheraton, Buffalo, and even Cheyenne, although we both prefer the mountains around Cody.

And then we look at our timelines and go over our financial situation, make phone calls, and do all the things dreamers do when dreaming.

And we finally found the place.

We knew where, and we knew when.

We were moving to Wyoming, where there are a lot fewer people, a lot more land, and trees.

I live in Phoenix, a valley of heat that can melt plastic and fry eggs on the sidewalk. (OK, the eggs on the sidewalk thing is a myth, but it feels like you could.)

And although we have never experienced anything like below zero temperatures (well, there was that ski trip to Telluride with the surprise ice storm, but that was over in a day or two), we were committed to dealing with the occasional 40 degrees below zero temperatures of Wyoming winters.

This capitulation to the idea of being able to withstand that temperature was based on the fact that neither my wife nor I can even imagine 40 degrees below zero, so what we don’t know can’t hurt us. Right?

Right?

Morning light in the desert is warm and beautiful.

Anyway, we were sitting on the patio at the end of August with the sprinklers going to try to tame the 110-degree afternoon and planning our escape.

I suddenly sat up and said, “How am I going to explain to the girls, (my granddaughters), that Papa and Grandma were no longer going to be in their lives?”

My wife looked up and said, “I have been waiting for you to ask that…”

Wives. Wise and cunning creatures.

At that moment, Wyoming waved goodbye, and we decided to move out next to my daughter and grandkids in the nearly untamed desert southeast of Phoenix.

(For those who think I sound like a softy giving in to a couple of rugrats 7 and 3 years old, I will say you are correct. The family has always been an overriding priority.)

And we did.

I have been packing boxes, taping boxes, painting closets, cleaning tiles, washing windows, touching up various touchup-needing items, and realizing how much crap I actually own.

Yikes.

Watching the sun turn the mountains red for a few moments marks the end of the day.

Tuesday, our home, the one where we raised our kids, and put so much love and attention into, goes on the market. In the worst economy since Carter.

Strategically, we feel pretty good. The realtor is expecting a cash offer quickly. We live in an area that is highly desired, and our house is really exceptionally cool.

We just met with our new builder to go over the plans for a super cool casita-style home to be built in the middle of Saguaros and Creosote along an occasional rushing wash—as in when it occasionally rains that hard out here.

I love the desert.

I’m flying my Edward Abby freak flag and embracing the hardscrabble land made harder by a huge concentration of quartz and stone.

We will have a patio/great room that can open to the outdoors by oversized sliding glass doors, and I will move into a nice-sized studio with picture windows to the west with incredible views of sunsets over desert mountains.

I needed this.

I have been fighting stagnation for a while now, and I both wanted and desperately needed a new view. Both physically and mentally.

After teaching an exciting course online for over twelve years, I decided it was time to retire it and move to a different class. Project 52 will graduate its last class in January, but The Creative Class is just getting started.

The beginning of Creative Class happened at the same time we decided to move. I knew it was going to be a challenge, but it was one that was more difficult to deal with than I imagined.

The initial ‘grand launch’ never happened, and that caused even more anxiety than I was experiencing with the move.

There was a moment, maybe two, when I thought, “Aw man, this stinks, and I just want to sit down and do nothing for the next five years”.

And when that idea would come out, I invariably reminded myself that there are plenty of reasons to quit. Plenty.

There are far more reasons to quit than to keep going.

Quitting is easy. Quitting is simple. Quitting is popular.

In fact, most people quit.

But there are also reasons to stay the course.

Nothing will ever happen when you quit; everything is possible when you keep going.

I will always keep going.

Except if there is a snowstorm on the road and I am on my motorcycle… yeah, done that, not doing it again.

Being out of the valley means a few more days of clouds breaking up that constant blue sky.

But onward for the fall and into next year.

New writing, new photography, the exciting Creative Class, and the Sprints.

Sprints are going to be quick and deep workshops designed to get a photographer up and running fast. Like in five days.

The first sprint will focus on finding clients ready to hire you. It will be a Friday, Saturday, Sunday, and Monday event with two-plus hours of live instruction and a couple of hours of homework each day.

Go into it on Friday not having any idea how to find and qualify possible clients, then come out of it on Tuesday with your list and strategy ready to go. No 8-week thing, no long workshop—this is an intensive training to teach you how to do it while you are doing it. Fast.

You will be finding and engaging with clients on Tuesday.

The next intensive will be on building a new website, and you will build your own while learning WordPress at the same time. Just think how much additional income you can bring in when offering your clients web design as well as photography.

More on these “sprints” will come as I figure out the schedule.

Look for a lot more from me in the next couple of weeks as I begin to talk more about the one-person business model, the mini-agency model, and why you must develop more skills to ensure a viable and sustainable business.

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Thank you for subscribing to “In The Frame”.

I write about photography, design, and soon, music, and my hope is to entertain as well as teach you a few things you may not have thought about. I am opinionated, passionate, outspoken, brash, and deeply in love with all forms of creativity.

I live in the desert next to a Native American Reservation, ride a bigass V-Twin motorcycle, take photos at every opportunity, and attempt to play jazz on drums and piano. I a starting a new adventure and I am so happy to have you here.