A Midwest Goodbye

For anyone familiar with how us Midwestern folks say goodbye to each other, you may know that it’s not as simple (nor quick) as just saying it. I grew up learning the playbook for giving a proper farewell here in Wisconsin, ranging from standing up and stretching, saying phrases like, “Well it’s getting late,” or hinting at a final bathroom break before getting on the road. No matter the method, these elongated goodbyes shaped my experiences with people and places around me, and oftentimes kept me around home for a tad bit longer. 

A double rainbow resides over a field in central Wisconsin.

Roughly 13 months ago, I quit my job. I felt compelled to finally make the leap towards a career built around myself and my passion without feeling boxed in by schedules, wages, or work culture. Don’t get the wrong idea, I loved my job. I keep in touch with my old coworkers almost daily and still find myself visiting them from time to time. One of the perks of working for a local business is you slowly evolve from being employees to being somewhat of a family. Regardless of how close we became, though, I didn’t lose sight of my passions. It was important to me that I set my future beyond a 9-5, and eventually, beyond Wisconsin. In a Midwest goodbye fashion, I even gave management a three-week notice instead of just two upon my departure. 

Since then, I’ve worked for myself. I’ve forged relationships with companies that share similar values and work ethics, discovered opportunities for educating passionate individuals about photography, and most recently, I ignited an interest in video work. As I explore the avenue of video production further, I’m reminded of my roots for storm chasing, landscape photography, and travel. The common denominator in all of these pathways was video. I used to stare at YouTube, floored by the power of mother nature, astonished by timelapse scenes, or simply inspired by scenes of natural light around the world. Folks like Kraig Adams, Martin Heck and Nick Page are some of the names of the first artists that I humbly wanted to “be like”. As I’ve grown older and fine tuned my craft, I remain inspired by them, but my aspirations to be like them are less. My art is mine, and my journey is mine.

A shelf cloud looms over La Crosse, Wisconsin during the 2021 storm season.

It’s been a month of reflection for me and my career. As addicted to travel as I am, some extra time spent close to home has felt comforting in many ways. I’ve continued to stare at weather forecasts and moonphase charts, but my immediate pull to rush out the door has been subdued. That’s okay, I believe. Sometimes a breather is needed even if you aren’t out of breath. 

One of my personal rules I’ve always lived by is to leave no door unopened, and never ignore the opportunity to run through one. Over the past few weeks, I’ve been quietly examining a door that has opened for me at an unexpected time. It’s encouraged me to step outside my comfort zone, embrace a future that I had not planned for, and process what it means to trust timing over control. Like I’ve been practicing, I’m letting the atmosphere carry my sails without forcing my boat one way or another. Maybe the breather I’ve been taking has helped me see which way the winds are pointing.

With that being said, in a fitting Midwest goodbye of prolonging my announcement through an almost 900 word blog post, I am excited to share that I am leaving Wisconsin this August and will be moving to Colorado.

My pursuit of being a landscape photographer does not end here. In fact, I am beginning to see a maturation of my art take shape with this new chapter. Places that I would travel to once or twice a year will soon be accessible potentially once or twice a month. My Midwestern mentality of what defines a “short drive” will live on in Colorado, knowing that I’ll be a handful of hours from places like the San Juans, Medicine Bow, the Badlands, Moab and more. I’ll be trading single day storm chases in Iowa for western Kansas, and doors for early season magic in classic Tornado Alley will open more often than before. These are just some of the opportunities I’ve begun processing over the past few weeks, but I know more realities will set in soon. 

Morning light during peak fall colors at Maroon Bells, Colorado.

To those who have supported me, challenged me, believed in me before I did, asked the hard questions or proudly walked beside me, I thank you. I’ll be carrying all of the influence and lessons I’ve learned throughout this next chapter, and I’ll be sure to honor the confidence others have invested in me. This move isn’t a goodbye to Wisconsin, but a continuation of everything it’s taught me. I’ll always hold a special spot in my heart for this place that I've called home, even as I chase new light in new places.

Once a Cheesehead, always a Cheesehead.