From Borrowed Camera to Creative Awakening
Previously in this series:
A broken camera led me back through my archives—and back to the core of why I shoot. However, that reflection opened the door to something unexpected: a casual 'yes' to borrowing a GoPro, which changed how I see, create, and pay attention.
Sometimes, creativity doesn’t start with intention—it starts with impulse.
I wasn’t looking for a camera. I wasn’t looking for anything. One Tuesday night, during a local dart league match I was participating in, I don’t remember how the topic arose, but a friend casually offered to let me borrow their GoPro Max 360. I shrugged and said yes without giving it much thought. A few days later, I was holding a bag full of mounts, memory cards, accessories I didn’t recognize, and a camera I had no idea how to use.
No plan. No expectations. No reason to think this would amount to anything.
And yet, that random “why not” turned out to be the beginning of something that shifted how I see the world.
A frame within a frame. I layered one of my first biking shots—taken with the GoPro Max—onto the camera itself in Photoshop. The same camera that captured the moment is now part of the image. Full-circle creativity, literally.
Starting Without Direction
Back at home, I skipped all the tutorials. I strapped the GoPro to my bike helmet, pressed the record button, and rode around my neighborhood as if I were filming an action scene. I had no clue what settings I had on. I didn’t even realize it wasn’t recording 360 video.
Later, I pulled out my iPhone and started reviewing the footage. That’s when reality hit.
The early results? A disaster. My first video looked like it had been shot during a minor earthquake—crooked angles, blown-out exposure, and jittery motion, as if the camera was mounted on a wobbling seesaw. But I watched the whole thing, over and over. It was chaotic and awkward—but it was mine. And that made it fascinating.
I wasn’t hooked on the quality. I was hooked on the possibility.
Education Through Failure
What followed was a crash course in trial and error. Emphasis on error.
My aging desktop couldn’t handle the 360º files. It choked, crashed, and refused to cooperate. Editing software glitched. I’d wait hours for a video to export, only for it to fail at the last second. I had no workflow, no reliable tools, and no clue what I was doing.
But every crash, every hiccup, every horrible frame taught me something. A new workaround here, a camera setting there, a well of patience I didn’t know I had.
“Photography is a journey… a craft learned by doing, making mistakes, and capturing loads of throwaway images.”
— Todd Dominey
Those throwaway images weren’t failures. They were my curriculum.
I’d take screenshots of interesting frames, email them to myself, and edit them using whatever basic tools didn’t crash my system. It was slow, clunky, and full of mistakes—but it was real.
After the Return, the Spark Remained
Eventually, I returned the camera to my friend. But the itch to create didn’t go away. It got louder.
I started taking photos with my iPhone. No fancy lenses, no mounts, no gear—just me walking around, seeing what caught my attention. I wasn’t trying to be a photographer. I just wanted to keep chasing that feeling.
And something started to shift.
I found myself noticing things I’d never paid attention to before: how afternoon sunlight carved shadows into the sidewalk, how puddles after rain held perfect upside-down skylines, how light changed everything depending on the time of day.
“Photography is a tool that helps us see the world differently… noticing the light, the connections, and the small details that often go unnoticed.”
— Belinda Shi
None of it had to do with gear. The shift was in how I paid attention.
“It is an illusion that photos are made with the camera… they are made with the eye, heart and head.”
— Henri Cartier-Bresson
The GoPro was just the tool. The seeing came from me.
Creativity Within Limits
I didn’t have high-end equipment. My computer was barely hanging on. However, those constraints didn’t stifle my creativity—they ignited it.
“Photography is primarily about vision, perspective, and emotion… We are never as creative as within a given framework with limits‼️”
— via LinkedIn
Those limits forced me to be resourceful. I leaned into angles I wouldn’t have tried otherwise. I paid attention to lighting instead of relying on editing. I worked with what I had, and that made the process mine.
Even without the camera, I found myself mentally framing scenes. A cracked sidewalk. A weird reflection. A bird mid-flight. I wasn’t just taking pictures anymore—I was seeing differently.
One of my early GoPro Max experiments. What struck me here was how the camera nearly erases itself from the shot when you angle it right, even when it's strapped to your helmet. The shadows double up, the angles shift mid-motion, and it all feels slightly surreal. It’s not perfect, but it showed me how dynamic and weirdly expressive 360° footage can be when you're just out moving through the city.
Following Energy, Not Plans
I didn’t start this journey with a plan. I just followed what gave me energy. That turned out to be a strength.
“People tend to be more creative when they are intrinsically motivated.”
— Kendra Cherry, Verywell Mind
I wasn’t creating for clout or content strategy—I just loved doing it. And the more I did, the more I wanted to learn, improve, and create.
Eventually, I hit the limits of my old desktop. That’s when I started looking into building my PC—not to chase specs, but to keep creating without my tools getting in the way.
This creativity had ripple effects I didn’t expect. As someone living with ankylosing spondylitis, I found that having a project I cared about helped me cope.
“The process of creating—of making something meaningful, even through the pain—is inherently joyful. For me, it’s what keeps me going.”
— Fiona Clark, Spondylitis.org
That’s what this became for me: a meaningful outlet I hadn’t even realized I needed.
Why This Story Matters
This blog may eventually include gear breakdowns, tutorials, or affiliate links to help support the work. But none of that matters without this, the moment I said yes to a borrowed camera and stumbled into a new way of seeing the world.
You don’t need a master plan to begin. You don’t need the best tools. You need the willingness to start.
“Trust the process, keep experimenting, and don’t be afraid to take those messy first steps. You’ll surprise yourself.”
— via LinkedIn
That’s my goal here: keep experimenting. Keep sharing. Keep being surprised.
So if you’re sitting on a creative impulse—whether it’s photography, writing, painting, whatever—don’t wait for everything to be perfect.
Just begin.
Next Up: Building the Tools I Needed to Keep Creating
As I continued to push to create, my tools started holding me back. The old computer couldn’t keep up with what I was trying to make. That’s when I made a decision I never saw coming: I built a PC from scratch—not because I wanted to become a hardware nerd, but because I wanted to keep going.
About This Series
This is part of an ongoing exploration of accidentally falling into photography through borrowed equipment, failed experiments, and the kind of stubborn curiosity that turns obstacles into opportunities. Each post captures a different stage of learning to see the world through someone else's lens—even when you have no idea what you're doing with it.
