Growing Together Apart
I’m at an age when more often than not when a friend says they have something to tell you, it's usually big news. My best friend became a father two years ago. He and his wife, Crystal, brought us a beautiful baby boy named Maverick Cole, 3 months old at the time of these photographs. It's crazy how fast life goes by.
I first met Chris my freshman year in High School although we wouldn't become close until sophomore year, after finding common ground in not comprehending geometry. We became study buddies, often seeking extra credit from Mr. S to manage at least a passing grade. We'd eventually become inseparable, ritualizing much of favorite things like always going the Mr. Nino's Pizzeria after copping some comics from our local comic shop, or how it was expected for either of us to show up to the other's house with a carton of Welsh's Passionfruit juice. We were alike in so many ways, however, in the ways that we were different defined our friendship. Chris was the first friend I ever had who wanted the best for me, and I him. We'd often challenge each other through philosophical debates and personally hold each accountable, our word meant everything-- and there was an unspoken understanding between us and all our friends and family, was that there was them and then there was us. From summer breaks to prom to our first job, to college touring, our coming of age stories are intertwined. Sometimes it feels like it was only yesterday when we were chilling in our dorm room reading X-men comics or binging-watching Friday Night Lights. Now he’s a dad, and I’m a godfather. And it's times like these that make me really grateful to have found photography because I get to document this new chapter in his life. Fatherhood looks so beautiful on him words can hardly describe it. Truthfully, living vicariously through him as he embrace the world as himself was enough for me, while I figured out to free myself from shackles of fear of change should I'd ever come out.
I hope someday I'm blessed with my own family. At 31 it sometimes seems impossible; such is the plight of a married 30-something gay man, chasing a dream that naturally doesn't fit them. They say your late 20s are always better sweet because it's the first reminder, for many of us, of our aging mortality, but it's also the promise of stepping into your fully realized self, granted you did the work in your 20s. Something I didn't expect in growing up was how easy it was to grow apart. That the choices regardless of how grand or mundane, have the power to push us towards or away from the ones we love. Choices that turn into habits that turn into lifestyle. Two friends no longer living in sync find themselves
I first met Chris my freshman year in High School although we wouldn't become close until sophomore year, after finding common ground in not comprehending geometry. We became study buddies, often seeking extra credit from Mr. S to manage at least a passing grade. We'd eventually become inseparable, ritualizing much of favorite things like always going the Mr. Nino's Pizzeria after copping some comics from our local comic shop, or how it was expected for either of us to show up to the other's house with a carton of Welsh's Passionfruit juice. We were alike in so many ways, however, in the ways that we were different defined our friendship. Chris was the first friend I ever had who wanted the best for me, and I him. We'd often challenge each other through philosophical debates and personally hold each accountable, our word meant everything-- and there was an unspoken understanding between us and all our friends and family, was that there was them and then there was us. From summer breaks to prom to our first job, to college touring, our coming of age stories are intertwined. Sometimes it feels like it was only yesterday when we were chilling in our dorm room reading X-men comics or binging-watching Friday Night Lights. Now he’s a dad, and I’m a godfather. And it's times like these that make me really grateful to have found photography because I get to document this new chapter in his life. Fatherhood looks so beautiful on him words can hardly describe it. Truthfully, living vicariously through him as he embrace the world as himself was enough for me, while I figured out to free myself from shackles of fear of change should I'd ever come out. I hope someday
I first met Chris my freshman year in High School although we wouldn't become close until sophomore year, after finding common ground in not comprehending geometry. We became study buddies, often seeking extra credit from Mr. S to manage at least a passing grade. We'd eventually become inseparable, ritualizing much of favorite things like always going the Mr. Nino's Pizzeria after copping some comics from our local comic shop, or how it was expected for either of us to show up to the other's house with a carton of Welsh's Passionfruit juice. We were alike in so many ways, however, in the ways that we were different defined our friendship. Chris was the first friend I ever had who wanted the best for me, and I him. We'd often challenge each other through philosophical debates and personally hold each accountable, our word meant everything-- and there was an unspoken understanding between us and all our friends and family, was that there was them and then there was us. From summer breaks to prom to our first job, to college touring, our coming of age stories are intertwined. Sometimes it feels like it was only yesterday when we were chilling in our dorm room reading X-men comics or binging-watching Friday Night Lights. Now he’s a dad, and I’m a godfather. And it's times like these that make me really grateful to have found photography because I get to document this new chapter in his life. Fatherhood looks so beautiful on him words can hardly describe it. Truthfully, living vicariously through him as he embrace the world as himself was enough for me, while I figured out to free myself from shackles of fear of change should I'd ever come out. I hope someday
on opposite sides of the dream differed. No longer boys, but men, they are scarred and sun-kissed, still black just darker
impossible; such is the plight of a married 30-something gay man, chasing a dream that naturally doesn't fit them. They say your late 20s are always better sweet because it's the first your late 20s are always better sweet because it's the first They say your late 20s are always better sweet because it's the first your late 20s are always better sweet because it's the first
I'm blessed with my own family. At 31 it sometimes seems impossible; such is the plight of a married 30-something gay man, chasing a dream that naturally doesn't fit them. They say your late 20s are always better sweet because it's the first reminder, for many of us, of our aging mortality, but it's also
I first met Chris my freshman year in High School although we wouldn't become close until sophomore year, after finding common ground in not comprehending geometry. We became study buddies, often seeking extra credit from Mr. S to manage at least a passing grade. We'd eventually become inseparable, ritualizing much of favorite things like always going the Mr. Nino's Pizzeria after copping some comics from our local comic shop, or how it was expected for either of us to show up to the other's house with a carton of Welsh's Passionfruit juice. We were alike in so many ways, however, in the ways that we were different defined our friendship. Chris was the first friend I ever had who wanted the best for me, and I him. We'd often challenge each other through philosophical debates and personally hold each accountable, our word meant everything-- and there was an unspoken understanding between us and all our friends and family, was that there was them and then there was us. From summer breaks to prom to our first job, to college touring, our coming of age stories are intertwined. Sometimes it feels like it was only yesterday when we were chilling in our dorm room reading X-men comics or binging-watching Friday Night Lights. Now he’s a dad, and I’m a godfather. And it's times like these that make me really grateful to have found photography because I get to document this new chapter in his life. Fatherhood looks so beautiful on him words can hardly describe it.
I'm blessed with my own family. At 31 it sometimes seems impossible; such is the plight of a married 30-something gay man, chasing a dream that naturally doesn't fit them. They say your late 20s are always better sweet because it's the first your late 20s are always better sweet because it's the first I'm blessed with my
I’m at an age when more often than not when a friend says they have something to tell you, it's usually big news. My best friend became a father two years ago. He and his wife, Crystal, brought us a beautiful baby boy named Maverick Cole, 3 months old at the time of these photographs. It's crazy how fast life goes by.
I first met Chris my freshman year in High School although we wouldn't become close until sophomore year, after finding common ground in not comprehending geometry. We became study buddies, often seeking extra credit from Mr. S to manage at least a passing grade. We'd eventually become inseparable, ritualizing much of favorite things like always going the Mr. Nino's Pizzeria after copping some comics from our local comic shop, or how it was expected for either of us to show up to the other's house with a carton of Welsh's Passionfruit juice. We were alike in so many ways, however, in the ways that we were different defined our friendship. Chris was the first friend I ever had who wanted the best for me, and I him. We'd often challenge each other through philosophical debates and personally hold each accountable, our word meant everything-- and there was an unspoken understanding between us and all our friends and family, was that there was them and then there was us. From summer breaks to prom to our first job, to college touring, our coming of age stories are intertwined. Sometimes it feels like it was only yesterday when we were chilling in our dorm room reading X-men comics or binging-watching Friday Night Lights. Now he’s a dad, and I’m a godfather. And it's times like these that make me really grateful to have found photography because I get to document this new chapter in his life. Fatherhood looks so beautiful on him words can hardly describe it. Truthfully, living vicariously through him as he embrace the world as himself was enough for me, while I figured out to free myself from shackles of fear of change should I'd ever come out.
I hope someday I'm blessed with my own family. At 31 it sometimes seems impossible; such is the plight of a married 30-something gay man, chasing a dream that naturally doesn't fit them. They say your late 20s are always better sweet because it's the first reminder, for many of us, of our aging mortality, but it's also the promise of stepping into your fully realized self, granted you did the work in your 20s. Something I didn't expect in growing up was how easy it was to grow apart. That the choices regardless of how grand or mundane, have the power to push us towards or away from the ones we love. Choices that turn into habits that turn into lifestyle. Two friends no longer living in sync find themselves
on opposite sides of the dream differed. No longer boys, but men, they are scarred and sun-kissed, still black just darker
impossible; such is the plight of a married 30-something gay man, chasing a dream that naturally doesn't fit them. They say your late 20s are always better sweet because it's the first your late 20s are always better sweet because it's the first They say your late 20s are always better sweet because it's the first your late 20s are always better sweet because it's the first
I'm blessed with my own family. At 31 it sometimes seems impossible; such is the plight of a married 30-something gay man, chasing a dream that naturally doesn't fit them. They say your late 20s are always better sweet because it's the first your late 20s are always better sweet because it's the first I'm blessed with my
I'm blessed with my own family. At 31 it sometimes seems impossible; such is the plight of a married 30-something gay man, chasing a dream that naturally doesn't fit them. They say your late 20s are always better sweet because it's the first reminder, for many of us, of our aging mortality, but it's also
I first met Chris my freshman year in High School although we wouldn't become close until sophomore year, after finding common ground in not comprehending geometry. We became study buddies, often seeking extra credit from Mr. S to manage at least a passing grade. We'd eventually become inseparable, ritualizing much of favorite things like always going the Mr. Nino's Pizzeria after copping some comics from our local comic shop, or how it was expected for either of us to show up to the other's house with a carton of Welsh's Passionfruit juice. We were alike in so many ways, however, in the ways that we were different defined our friendship. Chris was the first friend I ever had who wanted the best for me, and I him. We'd often challenge each other through philosophical debates and personally hold each accountable, our word meant everything-- and there was an unspoken understanding between us and all our friends and family, was that there was them and then there was us. From summer breaks to prom to our first job, to college touring, our coming of age stories are intertwined. Sometimes it feels like it was only yesterday when we were chilling in our dorm room reading X-men comics or binging-watching Friday Night Lights. Now he’s a dad, and I’m a godfather. And it's times like these that make me really grateful to have found photography because I get to document this new chapter in his life. Fatherhood looks so beautiful on him words can hardly describe it. Truthfully, living vicariously through him as he embrace the world as himself was enough for me, while I figured out to free myself from shackles of fear of change should I'd ever come out. I hope someday
I first met Chris my freshman year in High School although we wouldn't become close until sophomore year, after finding common ground in not comprehending geometry. We became study buddies, often seeking extra credit from Mr. S to manage at least a passing grade. We'd eventually become inseparable, ritualizing much of favorite things like always going the Mr. Nino's Pizzeria after copping some comics from our local comic shop, or how it was expected for either of us to show up to the other's house with a carton of Welsh's Passionfruit juice. We were alike in so many ways, however, in the ways that we were different defined our friendship. Chris was the first friend I ever had who wanted the best for me, and I him. We'd often challenge each other through philosophical debates and personally hold each accountable, our word meant everything-- and there was an unspoken understanding between us and all our friends and family, was that there was them and then there was us. From summer breaks to prom to our first job, to college touring, our coming of age stories are intertwined. Sometimes it feels like it was only yesterday when we were chilling in our dorm room reading X-men comics or binging-watching Friday Night Lights. Now he’s a dad, and I’m a godfather. And it's times like these that make me really grateful to have found photography because I get to document this new chapter in his life. Fatherhood looks so beautiful on him words can hardly describe it. Truthfully, living vicariously through him as he embrace the world as himself was enough for me, while I figured out to free myself from shackles of fear of change should I'd ever come out. I hope someday
I first met Chris my freshman year in High School although we wouldn't become close until sophomore year, after finding common ground in not comprehending geometry. We became study buddies, often seeking extra credit from Mr. S to manage at least a passing grade. We'd eventually become inseparable, ritualizing much of favorite things like always going the Mr. Nino's Pizzeria after copping some comics from our local comic shop, or how it was expected for either of us to show up to the other's house with a carton of Welsh's Passionfruit juice. We were alike in so many ways, however, in the ways that we were different defined our friendship. Chris was the first friend I ever had who wanted the best for me, and I him. We'd often challenge each other through philosophical debates and personally hold each accountable, our word meant everything-- and there was an unspoken understanding between us and all our friends and family, was that there was them and then there was us. From summer breaks to prom to our first job, to college touring, our coming of age stories are intertwined. Sometimes it feels like it was only yesterday when we were chilling in our dorm room reading X-men comics or binging-watching Friday Night Lights. Now he’s a dad, and I’m a godfather. And it's times like these that make me really grateful to have found photography because I get to document this new chapter in his life. Fatherhood looks so beautiful on him words can hardly describe it.