For as long as I’ve held a camera, I’ve wanted to photograph my wife, Emily Daily, in a proper studio setting. She was overdue for a headshot anyway, so when we finally had an evening to ourselves, I set up my lighting, poured some wine, and started shooting.

When I glanced at the back of my camera after the first few frames, I had an unfiltered reaction: “Oh shit!” It was a good reaction. It wasn’t just that Emily absolutely glowed—I see her every day—but there was something else in her eyes and expression that stopped me.

Looking back, it makes sense. The best things between us—the energy, the laughter, the light—have always come from those unexpected moments when we’re working together, in the moment, pouring ourselves into something creative; the moments we’re both in our element.

At one point, she traced her finger around her face on the screen. “I like how my eyes are the focal point,” she said. I did, too, but I was still trying to figure out what had been so extraordinarily different from what I see every day. Her eyes have always been a defining part of how she sees herself, but I saw something deeper—a quiet strength and a kindness I’ve always known and loved, but with a clarity that caught me off guard.

Later, we went through the photos, sipped more wine and just chatted. I asked her questions that, even after 14 years, I never really asked. I just thought I knew as much as anyone could about her. Her answers reminded me that, for Emily, the thing that’s always made her eyes glow like that is confidence. And when she carries that confidence, she also carries kindness into every interaction, every choice, every story she tells. “I believe in kindness,” she said simply. “I treat others as I would like to be treated.”​

It isn’t just kindness for kindness’ sake, or politeness to avoid conflict. It’s deeper and more instinctive—a way of seeing and moving through the world. Her kindness extends to all living things. 

“I think I’ve just always been someone who treats all creatures with kindness,” she told me​. Her love for animals is a core part of who she is, and it never fails to ground her in the present. “Every time I think of Cady, I smile,” she said, referring to her 30-year-old Connemara pony. “I still have a picture of me wrapping my arms around her when I first got her as a foal. I was this dorky little kid with braces and coke-bottle glasses, and she was this sassy black pony. Who knew that 30 years later she’d still be here?”

Not too long ago, my daughter asked me why I always bring my camera to the farm where we visit Cady. I wasn’t sure how to answer at the time, but now I think I know: Part of it is the way Emily looks when she’s giving Cady carrots, brushing out her mane, scratching her belly, or just immersed in the scent of pony. It’s the way the sunlight reflects off of Cady’s white fur and into Emily’s eyes.

Her love for Cady, for animals, and for storytelling is all connected to something deeper—something that gives her confidence. That confidence often comes from creating—whether it’s writing, drawing, or shaping a story. “I love sketching animals, especially horses and dogs,” she told me. “It’s something I’ve done my entire life, and it’s very relaxing and rewarding. People enjoy them, and that brings me joy. It just feels natural.”

She describes it as a kind of quiet certainty, a connection to something she’s always known. “Even if animals aren’t as big a part of my daily life as they once were, I still feel that connection,” she said. “It’s like a family connection in a way, something that’s just part of me.”​

And then I realized that, when I set up the lights, adjusted the backdrop, composed the frame, and guided her through different shapes and expressions, I was seeing her quiet confidence more clearly than ever. It was the kind of confidence that doesn’t need to announce itself. It was the kind that comes from knowing who you are—and there it was, captured and frozen in time on the back of my camera. The thing is, we rarely see that about ourselves. We never truly get to look into our own eyes the way others do.

That confidence I see is hard to put into words but it’s something I’ve always tried to convey to her, especially when life gets heavy. So, I asked her another question I never really had: “What keeps you going on tough days?” She replied with a simple but empowering thought: “Remember when you were dreaming of where you are right now. We always wanted to live by the beach, I always wanted to work where I am now and have a little family. That’s what we’re doing, and it keeps me grounded.”

It’s not lost on her how rare it is to have built a career from what she studied in college: English and storytelling. She’s worked her way up in publishing for nearly 20 years, setting high standards for herself at every step, just like she does in almost every other area of her life. Now, as Garden & Gun magazine’s Newsletter Editor, she still sees every milestone as a stepping stone to something greater—a dream she will eventually achieve, at which point she will look back to when she dreamed of being there.

We both understand the pull of perfectionism—chasing a zenith that never quite exists. It can be exhausting. Some days, the last thing she wants is another virtual meeting or deadline. The bright, confident energy people associate with her is often a choice, and that’s when she draws from what she’s most proud of about herself. Her kindness, her accomplishments, and her creativity—that’s what keeps that kind light in her eyes even when the world feels like it’s burning.

After we finished reviewing her photos, I realized I had marked all the ones that made me feel that light; all the ones where I saw her in a new but familiar way. Not just as my wife, but as someone who carries her history, passions, flaws, and strengths in every expression. The ones I could never capture in a snapshot or describe with words in real time.

A good portrait should do that. It should remind you of the features you love about yourself or someone else. It should give you a glimpse of what the world sees, and you might not always be able to see in yourself. And if a photograph can reveal even a glimpse of that—the person we carry inside, but don’t always see—then it’s done its job.

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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.