Photography helps me make sense of things. It slows me down and pushes me to pay attention to the way light rests on someone’s face, how a gesture reveals more than words, or how a small detail turns an ordinary moment into something worth keeping. Those moments fade fast, but they tell us something if we bother to look.

When I returned to photography in 2006, I got caught up in all the noise. Gear, technique, opinions—chasing the “right” way to shoot pulled me away from my own instincts. I ignored approaches that felt natural because I didn’t think they would be taken seriously. Somewhere in that mess, I lost sight of why I picked up a camera back in the ’80s: to say something honest.

It took time to come back to that. Photography isn’t about perfection. It’s about perspective. About slowing down long enough to notice what resonates, even if you can’t put the reason into words. What we photograph reflects who we are just as much as the subject—our books, our music, our memories, the thoughts we can’t shake.

That’s why I keep shooting. To hold on to the fleeting things time tries to erase. To understand the world—and myself—a little better. There’s no finish line here. Just the act of looking, of noticing, of pressing the shutter at the right moment.

Below are a few images from a recent stay in Mexico’s Mazahua region—quiet fragments of encounters and observations that stayed with me.