“Are you a photographer?” The question was surprisingly simple for me to answer given that I’d just spent three days questioning my professional identity at a conference for travel professionals.
Over the course of a dozen sessions and keynotes, I’d been challenged to identify my niche in the travel world, and over every painful hour of those days, I could not. What do you do? I’d been asked over and over. The answer was always some confused stumbling through my resume, which left every person thinking, “She has no idea what she does.” Our very first session at the conference had included the edict that we develop our answer into a clever reply that consisted basically of the term “I help people XYZ.” And over the days that followed, I tried out various versions of that reply: I help people believe traveling is fun. I inspire solo female travelers. I make people want to travel more by telling them about new places. I help my tourism clients attract visitors. I give people beautiful photos that inspire them to see more of the world. I help people believe they can travel even if they are bad at it or scared by it.
They’re all true. But none could fully describe what I do and none clicked like the essential truth I needed for it to be. So there I was in Portland, Maine - just a short train ride up the coast from my conference in Boston - wandering around the alleys rimming the harbor. I went there because I believe you can never fly anywhere without taking a minute to explore it or the accessible places nearby. So Portland and later Portsmouth, New Hampshire, were destined to be my decompression days after a fairly intense schedule surrounded by travel folk that left me less sure about who I am professionally than I ever have been, and in serious need of an answer.
Enter the young parking lot attendant taking a break in his car at the Portland seaport. I didn’t see him sitting there, so he startled me when he spoke through his partly open window. “Are you a photographer?” He asked, having watched me try four or five angles of the boats bobbing near the docks with my big-rig camera. “Yes,” I said automatically, understanding that the Canon with a zoom travel lens I was lugging was more than many would haul, and also knowing in my bones in that instant that I am, indeed, a photographer. The magic of taking beautiful photos is like meditation, and I could literally do it all day - it is part of who I am. “You should go to North Street,” he told me. “It’s the best view of the city and no one goes up there to photograph it.” This, of course, is like offering a crack addict a big, fat rock. I ask him about the logistics, thank him sincerely, and go on my way.
And as I walk away, I’m struck by so many things. Yes, I am a photographer. I am also a writer to the core. And a live video host in a surprisingly happy way. And a marketer for worthy things that I can create enthusiastic messages for. And an Instagram micro-influencer - whatever that means now. Bottom line, I realized, is I am a communicator. What do all those things have in common? Stories. They are all forms of storytelling. From the moody tones of a Florida sunset to the tale of being robbed by a gypsy in Spain to the ads I make for Visit Winona - they are all ways I share a story from my belly that I hope resonates with someone else.
So like an epiphany, I realized as I walked that I’d found my answer, I think. Hi, my name is Cynthya Porter, and I tell stories that I hope inspire people to love the world and themselves and traveling more. Yeah, it’s a big mouthful with a broad audience. But I can’t cordon myself into a niche audience like solo female travel blogger or landscape photographer or adventurer or whatever the million niches are. My niche is people who just love stories that make traveling seem more fun, more accessible to them, and more beautiful in all its gloriously imperfect ways, and I’ll use any medium at my disposal to tell those stories. And so yes, kid, I guess that means I’m a photographer. Thanks for asking :)
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