…restraint is not a sign of cowardice, but a powerful tool accessible to the strongest among us.
It was my first time taking such an early ferry, and I wasn’t used to the dock being so packed with people. I traveled my usual route to the boat, taking a slight left and walking along the water; occasionally you could see cranes swooping in, searching for their next meals. Unbeknownst to me, though, my usual route in this new context caused me to skip the line. To make matters worse, I was walking with my cousin and my mom, both of whom had accidentally skipped the line with me.
On the ferry, we encountered a man who hadn’t taken kindly to this faux pas. He was well dressed, wearing a full suit jacket and black leather shoes- kind of ironic, given his upcoming behavior. After noticing our mild offense, this “businessman” approached my mom and expressed his anger through some unnecessarily explicit name-calling. I was in my own world as this happened, with my headphones on. My mom, on the other hand, felt horrible; she tried to explain that the ferry line was new to us, but the man persisted with hurtful, profanity-laden remarks. This was when I caught on. As my mom and my cousin left to go find seats, I stared at the guy for a few seconds, confused. When my mom later told me what had happened,I became incredibly angry on her behalf. She, however, forbade confrontation. In her words: “He was probably just having a bad day.”
Later that night, I wondered why this experience had affected me so intensely. It was far from the first time I had encountered hostility while living in New York City. In fact, I've experienced all manner of hostilities: a crazy man threatening to shoot up the subway car I was in with a gun he claimed to have, even being publicly insulted for my religion. Yet in these moments, I would simply shrug my shoulders and continue on my way. So why, at this moment, was I so enraged over a ferry line?
The answer slowly became clear to me. I have a natural instinct toward the protection of family. Though I can brush off insults directed at me when it comes to my mom it’s a different story. Justifiable as this principle might be, however, in the case of the ferry that instinct almost proved harmful instead of helpful. My mom didn’t want me to escalate the situation, and by acting on my anger I would have made an already bad circumstance that much worse.
This realization hit me hard. I had lived my life up to this point with the belief that anger is justified when faced with injustice. I now understood differently- the strength I thought I was embodying by protecting my mom was in fact weakness. In strenuous, uncomfortable moments, one must always prioritize the wishes of those they care about above their own emotions.
Through this experience, I’ve come to understand that restraint is not a sign of cowardice, but a powerful tool accessible to the strongest among us. It’s both common and easy to let reactivity take hold in the heat of the moment, but it takes a higher level of maturity to be able to step back and think through actions when immediately presented with a heated situation. As I move forward in life, I want to commit to embodying this principle, prioritizing calm and thoughtful responses no matter the situation.
Looking back, I am grateful for that experience on the Ferry, because it gave me something more rare and valuable than a hateful comeback ever could. It taught me the meaning of real power- to remain composed even when your instincts tell you to fight. To expect better of others, we must first better ourselves.
I realized that perhaps I was looking at life all wrong.
The contrast had me feeling lost. Returning from South Africa, the most awe-inspiring place I had ever observed, a land of savannahs and breathtaking wildlife, to the congested, dark streets of New York City. The sudden shift between worlds was jarring, but more than anything, I was startled by the way my newly ignited passion for photography had begun to flicker out. In Africa, inspiration was as common as air, pushing me to capture the landscapes and wildlife. Now, back in New York there was an invisible wall in my mind; I had gone from tall, vibrant giraffes to towering, gray buildings.
My relationship with photography blossomed while I was in South Africa, beginning with a simple shot: two zebras standing in the morning light. That image changed everything. As I pressed the shutter, I captured not just the beautiful appearance of the scene, but the essence of it as well. I was hooked immediately; each click of the shutter a way to hold onto the fleeting and beautiful moments in front of me. I documented everything- sunsets, animals, landscapes, even friends I met along the way. Each shot was special, a piece of the trip I could carry with me forever.
However, back in New York my camera went untouched. The savannah was replaced by lofty skyscrapers, and the peaceful sound of nature with honking horns and screeching subways. The only animals I saw were flocks of pigeons and rats scurrying through the ever-dirty subway. How could I capture beauty in a city so chaotic? All of a sudden my camera- once a symbol of curiosity and fascination- sat on my desk collecting dust, its only function to remind me of what I had left behind.
As time went on, though, I began to miss photography. Not just the act of taking pictures, but the way it had trained me to see. In Africa, I had learned to notice the smallest details–a bird perched in the distance, the texture of an elephant’s skin. That skill wasn’t bound to the wilderness, it was a mindset. I realized that perhaps I was looking at life all wrong. Maybe, I was so preoccupied with what New York wasn’t that I failed to see what it was.
Determined to break through my creative block. I challenged myself to look at the city with the same lens of awe that I experienced in Africa. At first it all seemed dull compared to the savannah, but gradually I noticed the beauty of the city that never sleeps. The way the sunset reflected off the skyscrapers was as beautiful as any landscape. The glow of streetlights shining through rain captured my eyes. Even the faces of everyday people, each carrying their own unique story, became subjects worth capturing. Visual poetry existed everywhere- it was just a matter of perspective.
This shift in outlook was freeing. Photography wasn’t limited to the exotic or wild. It was about not just noticing, but looking for the wonder in everyday life, in the details that people overlook. The world around me became a canvas, and my camera the brush with which I would paint it. New York isn’t South Africa, and it doesn’t need to be. Both places have innate beauty, and both deserve to be viewed with reverence.
Now, whether I’m wandering through the noisy streets of New York or standing in the quiet plains of Africa, I no longer feel the need to search for inspiration. Beauty, I now understand, can’t be tied to a location. It exists everywhere, waiting to be noticed. Photography isn’t just the action of clicking the shutter- it's a way of seeing the world, and through that understanding I’ve found a sense of curiosity and awe that stays with me, no matter where I am.