September 7, 2025: These were fun to write… and edit. The shorter format purposefully restricted the narrative (unlike last week’s long piece). I’m happy to publish these three, though my original goal was to publish 10. More about why I could only do 3 and a few of of the other photos that didn’t get stories below. Next week, a new video.

​About: Every week I write about living a great story: mostly personal stories, adventure recaps, links to coolness and analog photos that most likely have nothing to do with what you’re reading. They are random, but I love shooting film, so the photos are snippets of my photography craft.

Quote for the Week: “When forced to work within a strict framework, the imagination is taxed to its utmost—and will produce its richest ideas. Given total freedom, the work is likely to sprawl.” - T.S. “Lawrence of Arabia” Eliot who probably wrote this close to my second photo below.

Read time: 6 min

INTERESTING: “I don’t think you guys know what’s going on in education right now” Instagram reel from the front lines about how phones are killing our kids.

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The Mexico City streets were sleepy. Winding our way through the empty streets of La Condesa, along the rows of colorful casas, Art Deco architecture, and vibrant plants effortlessly growing out of the sidewalks, we had the neighborhood to ourselves. In a city of 25 million, in one of the most popular neighborhoods, this early morning had a small-town feel. The chilly dawn air was starting to mix with the warm morning light. This side of the street encouraged a jacket, the other, only a shirt.

My mom and Lucia were navigating us to breakfast through the neighborhood’s uniquely designed sidewalks that cut through the middle of the streets. Instead of barren concrete, the paths are tunneled through towering trees and cactus and succulents and flowers that grow a natural barrier from the passing cars. So much green inside a massive concrete jungle.

Like always, I’m carrying a camera. This 1995 point-and-shoot film camera is new-to-me loaded with the inaugural roll. What better place to break it in than one of the largest, most interesting, diverse, and historical cities in the world? Holding a camera encourages me to embrace the world more as an active narrator than a passive actor.

I vividly remember posting my first Instagram picture in 2011. It was a world-changing moment, immediately course correcting me towards a more creative future. 25 years later, nothing and everything has changed. I hardly carry my phone anymore and mostly hate Instagram. These days, I basically only shoot 35mm film with one of the four analog cameras I almost always have pocketed.

We pop out from the arching, naturally green tree tunnel to a five-way intersection. No cars, so we cross directly, right towards a silhouetted scene, the glowing golden sun backlighting a hunched figure in a flurry of flowers.

It’s generally not nice to take pictures of people without their consent. Especially in other countries. Especially as a gringo in a highly gentrified neighborhood where foreigners are fundamentally disrupting centuries of financial equilibrium. But this scene tho. It’s too good to pass up. Maybe he won’t notice. I click on my camera, mechanical sounds whirring as the 28mm lens ejects into place.

35ft out, he’s not looking. I don’t want him to look. 25ft. He’s immersed in his flowers. Maybe I can time it just right. 18 ft. He’s deeply focused on the flowers. Perfect. 10 ft. I quickly raise the viewfinder to center the framing, perfectly candid. Within milliseconds of my finger pressing the shutter, his head snaps up to look directly through my lens.

Click.

“Hijo de tu puta madre, qué chingados. Te voy a matar a la chingada.”

He’s charging at me furiously, fist raised, quickly closing the already short distance. I’m speechless, my mind blanking on “lo siento” and the same with Lucia’s, who also can’t flip to Spanish so quickly in the heat of the moment.

“Am I going to have to fight this old Mexican dude?” flashes through my brain, not fully sure if this situation will escalate as he’s immediately aggressing towards us.

“¡Desgraciado, lárgate a la chingada antes de que te reviente!”

I probably shouldn’t have taken that picture, and I knew that in the moment. But damn, what a photo.

“Lo siento, amigo.”

I had no friends in the desert, mostly because there was hardly anyone there, and if they were, they didn’t speak English. June is not the ideal time to visit Mars, with temperatures soaring above 100°. But after a few days in Amman, a hostel carpool to the Dead Sea, a road trip through some of the most intense land on the planet (Sodom and Gomorrah happened somewhere around here), and a final hitch-hike into the desert (“You’re an American hitch-hiking? That's rare” were the only words from the weathered Bedouin who gave me the ride), I now found myself all alone at the open air, makeshift living space at the base of a thousand-foot rockface in the middle of Wadi Rum, Jordan. It was a full moon and I could see for miles, only to realize that there were only a few dozen people for as far as I could see. No wi-fi, no phone service, no plan, just a few days in one of the most unique landscapes on the planet, which looks like a completely different planet. Exactly where I wanted to be.

Eight days after our first date, I journaled about chasing her to Colombia. Two weeks after that entry, I joked with her about not dropping her off at the airport because I would probably be joining her on the plane. Two weeks later, my flight was booked to her hometown of Cali, Colombia. A rapid tour of the city with a hike up the mountains. Quickly meeting her mom, just as friends. Next, a flight to Santa Marta for chill beach days and lots of pescado frito. Film cameras clicking every step of our journey. A bus ride and long hot hike into Tayrona National Park for three days of continued beach hangs, early sunrises, all the mango con leche’s, and doing nothing but deepening our budding relationship. On our final morning, early to rise, we stood in the golden morning light, spinning in circles to soak in all the views for the last time. Two kids playing in the water drew my focus, eyes and camera. No screens, far away, together, pure fun and joyful laughter echoing through the cove. “Future family goals,” I said, maybe out loud, maybe to myself. But I know she heard me, and I now know we’re headed in that direction, together.

More photos that were supposed to get stories:

Committing to weekly stories is an ambitious goal and I’m not sure I can keep up with this current pace. With a (first time ever) full-time job, a one-year goal of publishing a best-selling book, hosting a photography exhibit in November, and slowly reviving LIVE A GREAT STORY, dedicating hours a week to writing original pieces is weighing heavy. The original goal here was to multi-media story tell, so next week I’m jumping back to a non-linear format.

-z