A Moment that Makes all the difference.

It was the middle of a long, beautiful day in Costa Rica. Our tour guide had taken us to the top of a mountain and we had just finished one of the most authentic meals I’ve ever had. Slow-cooked beans, rice, and a spicy, savory stew that had simmered for hours over an open flame. The kind of meal that doesn’t just feed you, it stays with you.

As the sun high overhead, creating stark shadows on all of the houses along the hillside. I wandered away from the table, camera still slung around my shoulder. I wasn’t looking for a shot. I was full, tired, content and ready for a nap. Then I caught a glimpse—through a chipped green wall, into the open-air kitchen.

She was there. The cook. Working away. Wrinkles from laughter and years in the sun. She was washing dishes, hands moving with rhythm and ease, the way someone does when they’ve done a thing a thousand times. She looked up and smiled at me. I smiled back and made a motion as to ask if I could take her picture. She smiled wider and looked down blushing. I could tell this wasn’t a normal request, but she looked back up and nodded yes, continuing to wash her dishes.

I lifted my camera. My smile continuing to help ease her modesty. I clicked the shutter. Just once.

Click.

I mouthed gracias and we both went on our way.

And that was it. That was the moment.

I didn’t even realize until I was going through pictures later, that this shot felt completely different.

Not because the composition was perfect or the lighting was ideal. But because something about that frame held everything I had been chasing for years. Honesty. Story. Soul. It was a quiet image. Simple. But it felt like something real. Something lasting.

In that single shot, I stopped trying to prove I was a photographer. I just was.

All the client shoots, the campaigns, the big gear and bigger pressure, they’ve shaped me. But that photo? That smile through the green wall? That was the moment I finally saw myself as the photographer I’ve always wanted to be.

Sometimes the most meaningful moments sneak in quietly through cracks in the wall, after the meal is over, when no one’s performing and everyone’s just being.

That’s the shot I’ll remember.