New Lenses, New Stories
What Travel Taught Me About Light, Libraries, and Creative Renewal
Travel invites a particular kind of tension; the pull between wanting to take everything in and simply being in it. You want to see it all, remember it all, photograph it all. But there’s no way to hold everything. Eventually, you learn that the act of seeing—truly seeing—requires presence more than proof.
Sometimes, it takes new lenses—real or metaphorical—to notice what’s right in front of you.
Five years ago, I put down my DSLR. It wasn’t just about simplifying what I carried. It was something deeper, harder to name. I had been a photographer nearly all my life, even professionally for nearly a decade. But during that season, I was struggling. My mental health was in a dark place. I couldn’t create. I couldn’t see anything clearly—not through the lens, not even through my own eyes. So I made a choice. I would strip photography back to its simplest form. One camera. One tool. My phone.
What began as a creative constraint became a kind of quiet restoration. With no settings to manage, no gear to distract, I started noticing again—light, shadow, reflection, shape. Slowly, I returned to the practice not as a photographer chasing the perfect shot, but as a person learning how to see the world again, through simpler tools and, in a way, through new lenses.
A bit of the historic section of Dubai. |
This trip to the UAE—my third, and possibly my last—felt different. Erica came with me this time. We traveled with intention, knowing how fleeting and rare this kind of journey is. I moved through the cities with care, trying to hold space for both of us to take it in. I saw so many mosques, each more stunning than the last—graceful arches, geometric domes, calligraphic lines reaching skyward. We never entered one, but they called to me all the same: an invitation to reverence, even from afar.
The Al Noor Mosque in Sharjah, UAE. |
While the trip gave me space to reflect, it also gave me purpose. I had the honor of presenting at the inaugural Sharjah School Librarians Conference, representing the Winnetka Public Schools, where I’ve spent nearly all of my 33 years as an educator. My session explored how new tools—like audiobooks, interactive platforms, and AI-powered supports—can help re-engage dormant readers and expand access to inclusive literacy.
Libraries are about welcome. They are spaces of connection, wherever you are.
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This is the biggest LCD screen I've ever presented on! |
I shared the stage with passionate, thoughtful educators from around the world. But the most memorable moment came later—a quiet, private tour of the Mohammed Bin Rashid Library in Dubai, offered by a generous librarian on her own time. That gesture reminded me that librarianship transcends language, borders, and architecture. At its best, it is an act of hospitality.
Shatha, the children's librarian at Mohammed Bin Rashid Library. |
It wasn’t just where we went; it was who I got to share it with. Erica and I moved through each day slowly, choosing moments over checklists. We missed plenty, but saw more than enough. And somewhere in the quiet between scheduled presentations and wandering through museums and souks, something in me reopened.
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Part of a gorgeous mural I saw while wandering. |
Maybe it was the light. Maybe it was the warmth of unexpected kindness. Maybe it was the rhythm of the call to prayer echoing across the rooftops. But when I came home, I came home ready. I’ve been working—really working—on projects I’d nearly forgotten or set aside. Stories are flowing. Ideas are waking up.
I didn’t leave the UAE with souvenirs. I left with momentum.
My wife and I on our first full day in the UAE.
What Remains
I didn’t expect this trip to change me, but it did. Not loudly, not all at once. It offered stillness, light, and the chance to see through new lenses. It reminded me that sometimes, the best way to move forward creatively is to step outside your routine, out into the world, and let it press gently against your senses.
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A 'tiny planet' made from the view from the plane. |
Travel won’t hand you a story. But if you let it, it will change the way you see. It will hand you new lenses: light, attention, and wonder.
And when you return, the stories waiting inside you might look a little different, too.
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This hung on the wall in our hotel. |
This is the zoomed in version of the lens. "Tell Your Story!" |
If you're interested in more reflections from this journey—including the moments of stillness, symbolism, and light that shaped it—you’re warmly invited to read the full series on my Substack: “Where Imagination Takes Flight.”