The Accidental Photographer
It’s been over a decade since I proudly added a new title to my life — “Husband.”
And as any married man will probably agree, this title comes with several unofficial job descriptions.
Driver.
Luggage carrier.
Financial consultant.
Food taster.
And, somewhere along the way, family photographer.
The funny thing is, I never applied for this job.
I just somehow got it.
How It Started
During one of our early trips together, I picked up the camera and started taking pictures.
Then I took another one.
And another.
And then, somehow, another 300.
I was clicking everything.
Trees. Sunsets. Roads. Coffee cups. Random people walking by. Pigeons. Clouds. Anything that looked remotely interesting.
At that time, I genuinely thought I had discovered a hidden talent.
Occasionally, I would get a photograph that looked really good.
At least, I thought it looked really good.
So naturally, I would proudly show it to my wife.
I was expecting something like, “Wow, this is really nice.”
Instead, I usually got a polite smile.
Sometimes silence.
And occasionally, a look that seemed to say,
“Why does this photo make me look like I have just seen a ghost?”
That was when I started having doubts.
The Great Confidence Dip
I have always believed that I can manage about 65% in almost anything I do.
Not the best.
Not the worst.
Just comfortably above average.
So when my photography wasn't getting the appreciation I expected, it was slightly disturbing.
Maybe I wasn't a photographer after all.
Maybe I had been fooling myself.
Slowly, the excitement of clicking pictures started turning into self-doubt.
But being a person who believes in his 65% capabilities, I wasn't ready to give up so easily.
I needed answers.
Enter ChatGPT
One evening, after yet another episode of photo criticism, I did what any modern person would do.
I opened ChatGPT.
And asked:
“Why am I so bad at photography?”
The answer came almost immediately.
Apparently, there was nothing particularly wrong with me.
According to ChatGPT, around 65% of husbands apparently go through the same disappointment.
I don't know where that number came from.
I didn't ask for the source.
I was just relieved.
Finally, some evidence.
My 65% theory had survived.
Even artificial intelligence had confirmed that I was... average.
And strangely, that made me feel much better.
Making Peace With My 65%
Since then, I've stopped trying to become a great photographer.
I've lowered my expectations.
And honestly, life has become much easier.
A photograph is slightly tilted?
Fine.
A little blurred?
No problem.
Someone's head is missing from the frame?
It happens.
The important thing is to keep clicking.
Because somewhere between photograph number 200 and photograph number 600, there is a reasonable possibility that I'll accidentally take a really good one.
And when that happens, I quietly take all the credit.
Of course, my wife still has to go through hundreds of photographs to find that one.
But that's part of the experience.
These days, when she scrolls through the photographs from one of our trips and sighs after seeing yet another questionable picture, I don't get offended anymore.
I just smile.
Because I've finally understood something.
Maybe I don't need to be a great photographer.
Maybe being joyfully average is perfectly fine.
After all, I have spent years trying to maintain my 65%.
Why change now?
And somewhere in that endless gallery of photographs, there is always one good picture.
Usually.
Sometimes.
Okay... occasionally.
But that's enough.
I'm a 65% photographer. And I'm perfectly happy with that.
A little note: I shared the story and the thoughts behind this post with ChatGPT, and it helped me put them into words. The experiences, the photographs, the questionable photography skills — those are all mine.
