So how does one go from taking pictures for a stock photo website to being official documenter of the impending apocalypse? Even I sometimes marvel at the way things turned out.

My stock photography work was paying me well, enough for me to start my own gig and fully embrace the freelance nature of my work. I was living a decent life as compared to what I was doing a few years back. Bills were getting paid regularly, I could afford to do certain things my prior lifestyle prevented me from doing. I had patched up my relationship with my parents, though they were still sour about me not pursuing my masters degree. They begrudgingly accepted that photography was what I would be doing for the rest of my life and as long as I eked out a decent living from it, who were they to dissuade me.

You would think with all the stability in my life, I'd be happy. I mean, yes I was glad I didn't have to scour for food or surround myself with folks who considered every day a Friday night. My life at this point had some type of consistency to it, but something was missing and it kept nagging at me. After much pondering, I realized what was missing was some excitement and my restless soul needed to be placated. There was a yearning to grow, but this type of growth only came by experiencing different places and cultures. Moving beyond my current bubble and seeing what the world had to offer.

I knew I loved photography, and started thinking of ways to combine that with travel. I sent off my portfolio to various publications and press organizations, most notably the AP and Reuters, in hopes of getting a gig. A lot of my queries went un-replied and after a while I considered giving up on chasing that dream. Perhaps I wasn't as good as I thought I was. Maybe I should just be content with what I have and focus on growing my present business. Such thoughts gained ground in my mind and before long I adjusted to the restlessness, finding a balance between my curiosity and my present situation.

Lo and behold, life had other plans for me. Unbeknownst to me, my portfolio had been making the rounds of a top travel site. They had been impressed but due to the glut of photographers they had on staff already, could not justify adding me on. Luckily for me, and unfortunately for the guy I was soon to replace, a break in his leg was what guaranteed me my next position. Jubilantly I celebrated but quickly sobered down when I saw just how much traveling would be involved. Trust me when I say this, the life of a photojournalist is far from glamorous.

Those pictures you see on your favorite site and in your favorite magazine probably took hours to painstakingly create. Never mind the thousands of shots it takes to find 'the one'…did I mention deadlines too?

Yes, at first I was overwhelmed by my new work load. Things were coming at me so fast. One day I would be home in Chicago, by the end of the night I might be needed in New Orleans to shoot Mardi Gras, only to turn around the very next day to head for Hawaii to cover some surf contest.

I got what I wished for, only to realize perhaps I should have modified it a bit. I went from the guy who loved airports, to hating them. They reminded me of work and how much I needed to slow down. Right up there on my most hated lists, slightly a notch below airports were hotels. I spent so much time in hotels that I could pretty much guess what certain places had on their menu and on what specific day. A lot of people crave the rock star lifestyle, jetting from one place to another. Staying in fantastic hotels, dining on the finest foods and meeting beautiful people in the most scenic of cities. What they don't understand is how weary such a lifestyle is. How much you miss your bed, your friends and your family. How normalcy becomes a luxury and how many times you wish you could go back to your past life.

I am not an ingrate. I appreciate the opportunity I was given to do what I truly loved. I am just saying, whilst no rock star, I can sympathize with anyone who has had to live out of a suitcase for a lengthy period of time. And by lengthy, I mean anything from a month to six without seeing your home. Little did I know that this was paving the way for even more challenges down the road. Maybe if I could peer into a crystal ball at what was to come, I most likely would have tried to take in more of the cities I was shooting at. Its ironic just how much photographers miss out on in the process of taking pictures. I learned this lesson the hard way, one I am not sure I can ever live down.