Gratitude Changes Everything You See

Michael Schumacher survived 19 seasons of Formula 1 racing. He competed through one of the sport’s most dangerous eras, when death was an ever-present possibility on the track. In 1994, he won the race that killed Ayrton Senna—considered by many to be the greatest driver who ever lived. Two other drivers died during Schumacher’s career. He walked away from all of it with nothing more than a broken leg.

Seven world championships. The first billionaire athlete. By the time he retired in 2012, Schumacher was on top of the world, looking forward to the second half of his life.

Then in 2013, everything changed in an instant.

He was skiing with his 14-year-old son in the Alps, crossing between two ski trails—a simple, ordinary moment. He fell and hit his head on a rock. Despite wearing a helmet, he sustained a severe brain injury.

They put him in an induced coma for six months, then successfully brought him out. But his family has maintained complete silence about his condition ever since. No updates. No information. That silence tells us everything we need to know. Most believe he requires full-time care, unable to communicate or engage meaningfully with the world around him.

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I think about this every time I head out with my camera.

You’ve probably heard me say that the most important part of the camera is the twelve inches behind it. But imagine for a moment what Schumacher would give to have what most of us take for granted—the ability to simply walk into nature, to feel the morning air, to be present with the people we love. To engage with the world the way you and I do every single day without effort.

That’s the position most of us are in right now. If you’re reading this, you’re more fortunate than Michael Schumacher will ever be again, regardless of your current circumstances.

Gratitude transforms how we experience everything. When I’m out in nature, there’s nothing that can diminish that gift. The camera is simply a way to try and record some of those special moments, but whether it can—because of its technical limitations, or my own creative limitations—is irrelevant to the magic of the moment itself.

The gift isn’t diminished because I failed to capture it. On the contrary, it becomes more special because I carry it within, even when the photograph doesn’t work out.

For me, there’s no such thing as “bad weather” or “bad light.” The weather just is. The light just is. We’re the ones who interpret those experiences through our expectations and biases. When I think about what it must be like to go from the top to the bottom in an instant—from seven world championships to being unable to communicate with your own son—I realize I’m not exempt from any such thing happening to me.

And that makes every morning a celebration. Not just for myself, but for everyone I love who is also alive and healthy.

Living is rising each day with gratitude, curiosity, and presence. Seeing the fullness of life for what it is—a gift we must never take for granted.

Coming home with no images to speak of becomes secondary when you realize how fortunate you are just to have the experience. That gratitude makes you more curious about everything. It opens you to possibilities you might have missed while chasing the “perfect shot.”

Every morning I wake up able to walk into the woods with a camera is a morning Michael Schumacher would trade all seven championships for. That perspective changes everything you see through the viewfinder.