From the F Train to Farmland - Part 1

How to Move a Life Without Breaking It

Yes, bison.

If you’ve been listening to our podcast, you know I’m soon moving from Brooklyn to Lincoln, Nebraska. There are a couple reasons for this—a wonderful new relationship, for one—and the reality that, since my wife Elizabeth passed away in 2022, it’s just not possible for me to afford to live in my current circumstances anymore. The latter reason has been looming over me for a while now; the former confirms I’m the luckiest man alive. 🥰

I don’t move often. In fact, I thought the apartment I currently own would be the place Elizabeth and I stayed in for the long haul. But things changed, and now it’s time for me to go.

Packing up my life has been wildly disruptive. Part of it is figuring out what to keep, what to toss, what to donate, and what to shove into storage. I’m dealing with the stuff of two people: mine and Elizabeth’s. Every drawer, closet, and box I open is a reminder of both of us—our lives together and all the things we touched.

The implements and results.

I keep stumbling across photographic memories tucked away in corners I haven’t visited in years. Family photos from my grandparents, wedding pictures from both of my marriages, and prints from throughout my photography career—both commercial and personal work. I haven’t even had time to process how I feel about all of it. Sometimes a single photo will stop me in my tracks, bringing tears or laughter or just this sharp spark of memory. It can get overwhelming pretty fast.

Old photos found.

And then there’s the gear. So much more of it than I thought I had. On the plus side, I might be able to reestablish myself in Lincoln as a photographer and videographer without needing to buy much. On the downside—holy shit, packing this stuff is a pain. But even the gear stirs things up. Old film cameras and point-and-shoots remind me of the places I’ve been and the people I photographed. Some of it still works, which surprises me. I’ve clearly been hoarding equipment the way squirrels hoard nuts—and misplacing it just as well.

“Hello, KEH?”

What’s both exciting and terrifying about this move is the chance to reinvent myself as a photographer. I’m coming from a gritty, NYC-savvy street photography background… and heading into the unknown. Will it be landscapes? Small-town Americana? Something else entirely? I’m drawn to the kind of work Todd Hido and Stephen Shore do—those quiet, haunting images that speak volumes. And I’m curious: what does Lincoln have to offer a street photographer? Can I even call myself that once I get there? How will my skills translate in the Midwest?

Getting my Midwest legs from a recent trip to Nebraska.

Honestly, part of me feels like I’ve been handed a blank canvas. Maybe that’s an advantage—getting out of a place where it feels like everyone and their brother is a photographer. Maybe new ideas will come from being somewhere completely different. That possibility excites me. And it scares the crap out of me.

So, I thought I’d use this newsletter to document the move. Nothing heavy-handed, just occasional entries about what it’s like to uproot my life and how it affects me as a photographer. A place to think out loud a little. We’ll see how it goes.

Yes, the background is totally AI.