Why I’m writing things down before I think I know what I’m looking at.
I’m sitting in my home studio right now, putting the final pieces of this site together before I head out. There’s gear in the corner that’s been waiting patiently. A cat named Penny who has no idea what’s coming. And a notebook — actual paper — open on the desk.
Field Notes is where I write things down before they become something bigger.
Not polished essays. Not photography tutorials. Not travel itineraries. Just the raw material — observations, questions, small moments that catch my attention and won’t let go. The kind of thing you’d scribble on a napkin at a diner at 6am when the light is doing something unexpected outside the window.
Why This Category Exists
I spent four decades working in production. In that world, you don’t write things down until you know what they mean. Everything gets filtered before it goes anywhere.
I’m trying to do the opposite here.
The best thing about starting over — about pointing your camera at something entirely new — is that you don’t know what you’re looking at yet. The national parks I’m heading into are going to show me things I don’t have language for. Field Notes is where I find the language.
If you’re someone who’s in the middle of a transition — a pivot, a reinvention, a second act you didn’t entirely plan — you might recognize this feeling. The one where you’re taking notes on your own life as it’s happening.
That’s what this is.
What You’ll Find Here
Short posts. Honest ones. Sometimes a photograph and three sentences. Sometimes a longer reflection when something needs more space. Dispatches from wherever I am — on the road, at a trailhead, or exactly where I am right now: home, getting ready to go.
The notebook is open. Pull up a chair.
The best observations happen before you know what you’re observing.
— Michael
