I joined a running club.

I have to thank my wife, Emily Daily, and her work colleague, Chris Kraft, for conspiring to nudge me into it. As far as socializing goes, Chris and I seem to operate on a similar wavelength. Introverts can spot each other in a crowd from a mile away—not that we find ourselves in crowds all that often.

I’ve been running solo consistently for about a year now, exploring the Lowcountry’s ridiculously gorgeous, unpopulated paths. Having started with shorter distances, I worked my way up to four miles per run—what I thought was my sweet spot. In high school, I was a sprinter; distance running wasn’t even on my radar. But that changed with my first group run, when I unexpectedly pushed myself to six miles. By the end of that run, this post had already begun taking shape in my mind.

I won’t lie, I was nervous. Standing in the back of a Target parking lot at cold o’clock on a weekend morning, about to meet a group of strangers, wasn’t exactly in my comfort zone. But I was also nervous because I hadn’t run more than four miles in one go since high school.

Then I met Ray, the group’s captain and coach, and something shifted.

All he did was ask a few simple questions—how often I ran, what my goals were (The Cooper River Bridge Run), and if I had a target time in mind.

“Under an hour, I guess,” I said in my standard, unsure, self-effacing manner.

He looked at me with the hint of a smirk.

“Yeah, I think you might surprise yourself.” He sounded pretty sure of myself.

That small moment changed something in me, though. I stood up a little straighter, felt a little stronger, and I was ready to run with unfamiliar faces. He assigned me to a trio of twelve-milers, telling me I’d run across the Isle of Palms Connector and back—six miles—while they’d loop back for twelve.

We started at a slower pace than I was used to, which gave me a chance to settle in and get to know my running mates. We talked about how adjusting your pace can be a game-changer for long-term running goals—and often, for life itself. Sure enough, when I hit the four-mile mark and still had energy to spare, a bolt of confidence pulsed through me. I pushed myself a little harder for the final two miles.

Back at the parking lot, Ray asked how I felt.

“Surprisingly good,” I admitted.

He held out a fist, and I bumped it.

“Amazing what pacing can do,” he said. “And isn’t it incredible how a group dynamic changes everything?”

We talked about a training plan to ensure I’d breeze through the Bridge Run in a few weeks time. As he spoke, I found myself standing at attention, soaking in every word. It had been a long time since I had a coach—someone who could see me in a way I couldn’t see myself. Someone who could analyze what I was doing and give me the tools to improve.

Driving home with my new training sheet, I felt a familiar doubt creeping in. How will I find the time? The energy? What if something comes up? But then I thought about Ray’s confidence and the group’s momentum. That doubt turned into fuel. That morning, running with others helped me find a pace I hadn’t considered on my own. I felt confident it could carry me through bigger goals too.

The Way Others See Us

As an introvert, I treasure solitude. It recharges me. It fuels my creativity. But stepping outside of it—whether through a running club or a mentorship—can be just as transformative. That got me thinking about my work as a portrait photographer.

Anyone can take a selfie. I can teach someone to find good light, a decent backdrop, and snap a hundred photos until they get the right angle and expression. But here’s the thing:

Nobody can ever see themselves the way someone else does.

Read that again.

It is physically impossible for me, you, or anyone else to see ourselves in real, living, three-dimensional form. Even identical twins experience the world through different perceptions. And you better believe that perception—our inner narrative—tints how we see ourselves versus how others do. We can hold ourselves to impossible standards just as easily as we can lower the bar so far that we never push ourselves to grow.

So when someone stands in front of my camera, I’m not just shaping their body and expressions in a flattering light. Hopefully I’m showing them something they can’t see on their own. I hope I’m challenging them to see themselves in an empowering way they hadn’t been able to before. Beyond that, I’m opening myself up to receive their best energy—because a good portrait carries energy you can feel.

Try pulling your best energy out of yourself sometime—it’s not impossible, but it’s exhausting. It’s the difference between maxing out at four miles alone and realizing that, with the right pace, the right tools, and the right people, you can go a lot farther than you thought you could.

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Kind Light Charleston is an emerging professional headshot and personal portrait photography studio based in Charleston, South Carolina. I’m always looking for people to highlight in my blog, so if you know someone who shines a kind light in this world, I want to meet them! Reach out to josh@kindlightcharleston.com.