“Chad, this injury definitely requires surgery.” Not the news I wanted to hear.

And, I would hear it 3 more times before I retired from baseball.

Baseball and photography seem worlds apart, but I realized that my entire experience in NCAA Division 1 and professional baseball perfectly prepared me for a wild career of ups and downs as I’ve chased big-league dreams with a camera for the past 15 years.

The triumphs and high points are a lot more fun to remember, but if I’m being honest, the most important lessons continue to come from the setbacks and moments of quiet discipline.

While most people know me as a photographer, few realize I spent my early adulthood crouched behind home plate as a catcher in the Cincinnati Reds organization. Though I never reached the major leagues, those years shaped how I approach every aspect of my work today.

The Discipline of Preparation

Success isn't just about talent—it's about preparation.

As a ballplayer and catcher, I spent countless hours in the weight room and batting cage, optimized my sleep, studied opposing batters, memorizing tendencies, and planned pitch sequences.

Before I ever set foot on the field, I had already used my time off the field to be better equipped for success on the field.

This habit of preparation translated directly to my photography career.

When I document landmark construction projects like the Theodore Roosevelt Presidential Library, I'm not just showing up with a camera. I'm researching the site's history, understanding the architectural vision, learning about the materials and engineering challenges, and envisioning key construction moments before they happen.

Some photographers who struggle are often the ones who rely solely on instinct or technical skill. They arrive at shoots hoping inspiration will strike or that their expertise with a camera will save the day.

But as I learned in baseball, hope isn't a strategy. The professionals who consistently deliver excellence are the ones who do the invisible work before anyone is watching.

Simply chasing action all over the scene without doing proactive research (or at the very least identifying the right background and the right light before you start shooting) is a recipe for creating a bunch of half-baked pictures with no real intent.

The above image from a recent assignment at the Theodore Roosevelt Presidential Library is a great example, and it won an award as one of the best images of the year from ENR Magazine.

I was able to be in position for this dirt drop because I watched the process a few times from a different angle. When I saw how low the sun was on the horizon I immediately knew I wanted to incorporate it’s rays with the bucket of the mini-excavator.

Being careful to not trip over hazards or fall into nearby trenches, I positioned myself as best I could to capture the image I anticipated in my head and waited for the dirt, the sunlight and the posture of the workers to align.

Reading Patterns Others Miss

Catchers develop a unique ability to see patterns that others miss.

We track subtle weight shifts in hitters that provide clues to their intentions or weaknesses. We notice when a pitcher's arm angle drops slightly, signaling fatigue. These small details, invisible to the casual observer, often determine the outcome of games.

In photography, this pattern recognition becomes a superpower.

While others see a construction site, I notice how afternoon light creates dramatic shadows and geometric patterns across structural beams. In the North Dakota Badlands, the terrain is always beautiful but might look more compelling as the sun sets closer to the horizon.

This ability to read and anticipate visual patterns—to see what's developing before it fully materializes—allows me to capture moments that I would otherwise miss.

My mentors at the San Francisco Chronicle would routinely remind me to "Find the right light, then find the right background, then let the action move through the scene," instead of mindlessly chasing action all over the place.

It reminded me of what I felt as a ballplayer: great plays are possible when you're already in position because you anticipated possible outcomes before they happened.

We called this “pre-pitch preparation,” and would make constant adjustments on a pitch-by-pitch basis, the same way I adjust my camera settings continuously as I move through the scene or try to predict a subject’s movements.

The Art of Serving Others While Leading

A catcher occupies a unique position on the baseball field. You're both servant and leader—responsible for elevating everyone around you while excelling at your own role.

You call pitches that make your pitcher look brilliant. You catch borderline pitches in a way that presents them favorably to the umpire (“framing”) to get strikes. You block wild pitches to prevent runs.

A catcher’s success is measured largely by how well you help others succeed. This dual mindset perfectly prepared me for commercial photography.

When I work with clients, my job isn't to express my personal artistic vision at their expense. It's to use my unique artistic identity and technical skill to amplify their message, showcase their project, or solve their visual challenges.

Yet within this service-oriented approach, I still need to lead. Clients hire me for my expertise, not just my ability to follow directions.

Like a catcher who gently guides a pitcher by suggesting certain pitches or having a quick chat on the mound to reframe their thinking, I often need to steer clients toward visual approaches that will better serve their goals—even when those approaches might not be what they initially envisioned.

Note: the client is always right even when they're wrong, so your number one job is to do what you were hired to do. But always look for ways to elevate yourself beyond being a button-pushing-monkey and be a strategic consultant who recommends ways that help your client better achieve their goals.

The Resilience to Weather Slumps

Every baseball player faces slumps—those mysterious periods when nothing seems to work. I once went through a stretch of 22 at-bats without a hit.

Each day, I'd come to the ballpark believing "today is the day" only to trudge back to the dugout after another disappointing performance.

What saved me wasn't dramatically changing my approach or abandoning my fundamentals. It was trusting the process, making small adjustments, and maintaining confidence despite results that suggested I should do otherwise.

Photography businesses experience similar cycles. There are months when the phone doesn't ring, when clients choose other photographers, or when creative inspiration seems to vanish. During these inevitable periods, I rely on the mental toughness developed during baseball slumps.

I remember my dad (and longtime coach) telling me, "There are a million good ballplayers out there, but very few champions. What separates a champion from ‘just another good ballplayer’ is your ability to overcome adversity, not avoid it."

He reminded me that no one is immune from injuries, strikeouts or errors. An athlete’s (and professional photographer’s) likelihood of success is determined by how many times you get back up, not how many times you get knocked down.

Finding Joy in Unglamorous Excellence

Much of a catcher's work goes unnoticed.

The perfect frame that steals a strike. The subtle conversation that settles a nervous pitcher. The hours spent in ice baths recovering from the physical toll of squatting for nine innings. All so that we can sit behind the plate tomorrow and be as quiet and undistracting as possible for our pitchers.

Similarly, much of a photographer's excellence happens away from the glamorous moments. It's in the meticulous image organization systems. The careful backup protocols. The hours spent perfecting subtle adjustments in post-processing. The dark drives well before sunrise to capture perfect morning light.

Baseball taught me to find deep satisfaction in this behind-the-scenes excellence—to derive joy not just from the results everyone sees, but from the process that produces those results.

This mindset has been essential in building a sustainable photography career where much of my most important work happens when no one is watching.

Here's a new section to insert between "Finding Joy in Unglamorous Excellence" and "The Identity Beyond the Diamond":

Control What You Can Control

Baseball taught me a fundamental truth that transformed my photography business: success comes from distinguishing between what you can control and what you can't.

In baseball, I couldn't control umpires' calls, weather conditions, injuries or bad hops. But I could control my preparation, technique, and attitude.

Getting upset about a questionable call or being obsessively depressed about an injury only distracted me from executing what was actually within my power.

Photography presents the same challenge. I can't control if a client chooses another photographer, if the economy affects marketing budgets, or if a pandemic derails the world.

But I CAN control my equipment maintenance, my client communication, my business development efforts, my file backup systems, and my continued education.

"Worrying is a misuse of your imagination," my good friend Dr. Troy Spurrill once said in an interview. Those words resonated deeply because I saw how many photographers waste creative energy fretting over algorithm changes, market saturation, or competitors' prices – none of which they can influence.

If we neglect the details that are necessary for success (firmware updates, file backup, filing taxes, self-care, sleep), the results can be disastrous.

Equally detrimental is worrying about elements beyond our control, which robs us of the mental and creative energy we need to produce our best work.

The photographers who thrive long-term are as fiercely committed to controlling what they can as they are to letting go of what they can't. They focus their energy where it matters – on creating exceptional images and delivering outstanding service.

I still struggle with this myself and probably always will to some degree. But by being aware of it I can coach myself into better patterns of intentional thinking that propel me toward my goals instead of creating unnecessary speed bumps.

Remember: there is always the next pitch, the next out, the next inning and the next season. The best is always yet to come. Control what you can and purge from your mind the things you can’t.

The Identity Beyond the Diamond

Perhaps the most valuable lesson came not during my baseball career, but when it ended. After years of defining myself as "Chad Z the catcher," I suddenly had to discover who I was beyond the diamond.

This identity transition was jarring and disorienting. I had built my sense of self around baseball, and without it, I felt a bit lost.

Working through this transition taught me that authentic identity isn't tied to what we do, but to who we are and what we value. We are all much bigger than our possessions or vocations.

This profound lesson shapes how I approach photography and how I help other photographers find their path.

I've met countless photographers struggling with similar identity questions: Am I a wedding photographer or a portrait photographer? A photojournalist or a commercial photographer?

The answer, I've discovered, isn't about picking a label. It's about understanding your authentic self and letting that guide your artistic choices.

When photographers align their work with their deeper values and natural tendencies, they not only produce more meaningful images—they build more sustainable careers.

From One Team to Another

Baseball is ultimately about being part of something larger than yourself. You sacrifice personal glory for team success. You celebrate teammates' achievements as your own. You find your specific role and excel within it.

In photography, I've discovered a similar truth. While I often work alone, I’m part of a larger ecosystem of clients, subjects, viewers, and fellow creative professionals. My work matters not because it displays my technical expertise, but because it contributes to something meaningful beyond myself.

Whether I'm documenting a landmark construction project, creating images that help a business thrive, or capturing fine art that transforms a space, the satisfaction comes from the same place it did in baseball—knowing that my specific contribution, executed with excellence, helps create something greater than I could achieve alone.

The playing field has changed. But the core principles remain the same.

The lessons learned from behind home plate continue to guide me as I look through the viewfinder, reminding me that true excellence is most impactful when it elevates others and we can work together to amplify something bigger than ourselves.

PS - We photographers bring a lot of seemingly unrelated backgrounds to the table, like Dan Winters who studied entomology in college. What experiences did you have before going all-in on photography that informs your work today? Please share in the comments, I can’t wait to learn about your journey.

For years, I thought I had to "pick a lane." Every time I met or read about a photographer who was defined as "documentary photographer so-and-so" or "advertising photographer so-and-so" I thought I was missing the boat by not claiming my title. I felt like my own photography specialties were an unrelated mess of disparate skills.

One day I would be shooting for the San Francisco Chronicle or Reuters, the next day I'd be shooting for an architect in Silicon Valley, and the next day I'd be creating a fine-art image before sunrise.

I was thankful for the work and the momentum, but the lack of consistency wore me out. It was fatiguing to continually change my creative hats. It felt like I was three different people using the same camera equipment.

For years I struggled with this. Was I a photojournalist? A fine-art photographer? An architectural photographer or a commercial photographer?

As photographers, we often struggle to reconcile our artistic vision and be at peace with our place in the world, let alone generate financial success. This tension can create confusion, burnout, and frustration - but it doesn't have to.

Fine Art: The Personal Journey

Fine art photography emerges from our deepest truths. As one of my mentors Jerry Takigawa often said, "The more personal you get, the more universal your language becomes." Or, "artistic growth is inseparable from personal growth," as he said in this interview.

Like a songwriter crafting hits from heartbreak or the fullness of a new love, impactful fine art photographers create from that place of "I can't help it." Expression becomes a necessity.

This intensely personal approach can produce profound work. The artists who remain fiercely loyal to their identity create the most compelling work, giving them the best chance to connect with their ideal audience. Creating authentically from within rather than trying to please others leads to work that resonates genuinely—even if that audience might be smaller or take longer to find.

Photojournalism: The Impartial Observer

At the opposite end of the spectrum sits photojournalism. My mentor Kim Komenich, a Pulitzer Prize winner, taught me early in my college years: "The moment you're trying to show off a cool technique or crafty composition, you've made the picture more about you than the situation."

True photojournalists empty themselves from the equation. They become impartial windows to the world, allowing viewers to form their own conclusions.

This dedication to objectivity creates powerful documentation but requires setting aside personal creative preferences and ego.

Granted, many talented photojournalists apply artistic techniques to their work such as off-camera lighting, shallow depth of field, motion blur, deep contrast, etc.

But their artistic choices exist solely to better illuminate the story, not to show the world how much they know about camera tech or how creative they can be.

Commercial Photography: The Service-Minded Storyteller

Commercial photography is a unique creature.

Unlike fine art (all about the artist) or photojournalism (all about the story), commercial photography is a blend that uses your artistic vision to serve others' goals.

It's all about using your vision to create work that's all about them.

This is where I live 75% of the time. It's been a long, internal journey to be comfortable with the duality of pouring my artistic heart and soul into images that are clearly meant to benefit someone else's business objectives.

The key is to approach each assignment with a servant's heart. Bring the best of yourself to amplify the best of others.

The Path to Sustainable Commercial Success

The secret to thriving in commercial photography lies in alignment. When you understand and embrace your artistic identity, you attract clients who value your unique vision. This creates a powerful dynamic:

1. You maintain creative fulfillment by expressing your authentic vision

2. Clients receive distinctive work that serves their goals

3. You can command premium rates because you're irreplaceable

4. Better clients self-select based on your clear identity

Remember: You are not for everybody, and that's your strength. When you're fiercely true to your artistic identity, you eliminate competition because there's nobody else like you.

Why I Feel at Home as a Commercial Photographer

1. I enjoy being 100% myself and leveraging my skill to amplify others (aka help businesses win their own ideal business and attract ideal clients).

2. Photojournalism was my first love. I apply my documentary approach to all my assignments, so I feel creatively rewarded because my clients know that I'm discovering powerful moments along the way instead of producing the moments in a studio. Not that studio work is bad or inferior, just that I’m happy to stay in my lane.

3. While the goal is ultimately financial (I'm making money by helping my clients make money), I have a family who relies on me and if I've failed as a husband and a dad, I've failed.

Early in my career I felt drawn to chase international documentary assignments, pitch stories to Newsweek, Time and National Geographic and sleuth out stories that “need to be told." But at the time, I surveyed the editorial photography landscape and realized that I would never be able to support my growing family by joining the photo fee "race to the bottom" or competing with photographers who were trading free images for a chance to see their images in the magazine with the big yellow border.

Instead, I knew I wanted (needed) to make a living with a camera and I also knew I wanted to be of service to others. By blending the two together I found a home with commercial photography and am fortunate to say that I'm still at it.

Building Your Path Forward

Understanding these three distinct approaches brought me clarity after years of confusion. Many photographers move between these paths throughout their careers or even within a single month of assignments. That movement can be enriching but also challenging if you don't recognize the different mindsets each requires.

Commercial photography doesn't mean abandoning artistic vision - it means finding where your unique perspective creates value for others.

The most successful commercial photographers I know aren't the ones who compromise their vision. They're the ones who so clearly understand their artistic identity that they naturally attract clients who value their specific approach.

Your artistic identity isn't just your style - it's your gift to the world. When you align it with clients who share your values, you create a sustainable business that energizes rather than depletes you.

This clarity eliminates the emotional drain of competing on price or feeling undervalued. Instead, you build relationships with clients who see you as an irreplaceable creative partner rather than a commodity.

The path forward is clear: Define your artistic identity. Honor it fiercely. Let it guide you to clients who value what only you can create.

Whether you're drawn to fine art's personal expression, photojournalism's impartial documentation, commercial work's strategic service, or some combination that shifts with time, the most important thing is honoring your authentic voice. The camera is simply a tool—what matters is the unique perspective you bring to it. The world can't afford to miss what only you can offer.

PS - Where do wedding and portrait photographers fit in?

While I primarily think of wedding, family/senior/baby portrait, and similar photography as "consumer photography" (since your images are the end-product for the person hiring you, rather than being used to market other products or services), the mindset is almost identical to commercial photography because you're bringing your unique artistic vision to selflessly serve others.

You're not documenting impartially like a photojournalist, nor expressing purely personal artistic statements – you're using your creative eye to celebrate and elevate others.

I've recently connected with a handful of wedding photographers who are feeling especially burnt out but unsure how to navigate a transition to commercial work. Many feel trapped between creative fulfillment and financial stability, unsure if their skills would be valuable to business clients.

If you're a wedding photographer feeling burnt out and wondering if you can generate meaningful income without sacrificing your artistic identity, send me a DM. I'd be happy to share what I've learned and offer some insight.

I assure you, your technical skill, client management experience, and ability to capture authentic moments are incredibly valuable assets in the commercial world.

P.S. — Ready to find your commercial lane and build a sustainable photography business without sacrificing your artistic voice? I'm distilling 15 years of experience into my "Commercial Photography Blueprint" course. Join the waitlist for early access and exclusive discount pricing. Created specifically for photographers navigating the path between creative fulfillment and financial stability.

In 2011, I spent a full day with renowned Magnum photographer Paolo Pellegrin.

He and a small group of other members of the storied photo agency came to Fresno, CA, as part of Magnum's Postcards From America tour, where they visited cities throughout the US and culminated each stop with a pop-up exhibition featuring their images as postcards and prints.

When they announced the tour locations, they included an open call for volunteers to help with driving and local knowledge. I responded immediately to offer my assistance and received details a few days before the shoot.

A Day With a Master Photographer

On the morning of the shoot, I left San Jose at 6am for the 2.5-hour drive to California's Central Valley, arriving at a small Fresno hotel around 8:30am. In the lobby, photographers and Magnum personnel were organizing themselves and deciding who would work with whom.

Paolo introduced himself and explained what he wanted to accomplish that day. He asked if I'd drive him around to connect with contacts he'd researched before the trip. I agreed, telling him I had plenty of flexibility.

My “flexibility” turned into almost 14 unforgettable hours.

We drove throughout Fresno and its outskirts, stopping for 2-3 hours at a time as Paolo embedded himself within different scenes and documented the people. We interacted with 4-5 different groups, each encounter like a mini-assignment.

The Hidden Truth Behind Exceptional Images

Toward the end of this marathon day, with most of Paolo's photographic plans behind us, our conversation turned to building a career with a camera, the changing industry, and some of his favorite assignments. I asked:

"Paolo, with photography being so different today than when you started - with the internet, digital cameras, and social media - what advice would you give your younger self if you were starting out now?"

He appreciated the question and paused for just a moment to collect his thoughts as a stoplight turned from red to green.

"Obviously you need to work on your craft," he acknowledged, "always improving the technical aspects of how you use your camera, its settings, the lenses... become proficient with the tools so you don't think about the tools. Learn to see light, keep re-learning to see light and how to use light."

But then he took it a step further and shared some insight that would forever change how I thought about photography:

"But more so, work on yourself as a person. Everything you do - all of the books you read, people you talk to, relationships you build, cinema you watch... all of your morals, beliefs and convictions... all of it translates into your ability to create exceptional pictures. Why you compose an image the way you do, why you raise your camera to your eye in the first place, whether you shoot something low or high, wide or tight. Everything you are as a human correlates to how you interpret a scene."

When Technical Excellence Isn't Enough

In my early career, I was obsessed with technical mastery - hurrying to perfect my understanding of f-stops and shutter speeds, thinking that was the key to landing magazine assignments. I thought if I could just memorize every button on my camera, make sure to get the right thing in focus and perfect my lighting techniques, I'd graduate to a "professional" level.

But Paolo's wisdom illuminated a deeper truth: technical excellence is merely the baseline. Mastering the tool does not mean mastering the craft. The real differentiator - the factor that separates good photographers from great ones - is the depth of the person behind the camera.

This explains why two photographers can stand in the same spot, use identical equipment, and create entirely different images. It's not about the camera settings; it's about what each photographer brings to that moment - their experiences, their worldview, their understanding of human nature, their capacity for empathy.

Over the fifteen years since that conversation, I've watched this truth play out repeatedly in my own work. My most successful images aren't the ones with perfect technical execution (though that matters). They're the ones where I brought my full self to the moment - where my understanding of human nature helped me anticipate a gesture, where my genuine curiosity and respect for my subject let me lead with empathy, where my experience with athletics helped me relate to someone I might not have otherwise connected with.

The Unique Voice We Each Possess

This holistic approach to photography - focusing on personal growth alongside technical development - offers powerful insights for creators:

1. It suggests that time spent reading, traveling, or engaging in deep conversations is as valuable (more valuable?) as time spent practicing with our cameras.

2. It reminds us that our unique perspectives, passions and experiences aren't distractions from our photography - they're essential ingredients in our creative voice.

3. It explains why copying another photographer's techniques rarely produces the same results - because technique is just one step of a much deeper creative process.

4. Most importantly, it reminds us that our identity is our gift to the world, not our camera skills. When you are truly flowing in your identity there is literally no one like you, and only you have the ability to make that picture how you would make it at that particular time and in that particular place.

Identity as Your Creative Signature

When I was a student photographer at our school's newspaper in 2009, I was eager to shoot something "original" and shied away from stories or subjects that had been covered before. After discussing a certain project with my editor and deciding "yeah, but so-and-so already shot that a few years back," he replied, "Yeah, but it wasn't shot by Chad Ziemendorf in 2009."

His point wasn't that I was a master photographer that would "shoot it better" (I wasn't). He was trying to tell me that even though it "had been done," my unique perspective would guarantee that my efforts wouldn't produce a carbon-copy of what was done before. It would undoubtedly be different simply because my collective experiences, passions and beliefs as a human were different from the photographer that explored that topic before.

Investing in the Person Behind the Camera

Paolo's advice that 2011 evening wasn't just about photography - it was about the interconnectedness of art and life. Every book we read, every relationship we nurture, every experience we have becomes part of our photographic toolkit.

Our cameras merely record what we see, but it's our accumulated wisdom and understanding that teaches us where to look and when to press the shutter.

As I continue my journey in photography, this wisdom has become even more relevant today than it was back then. Technical proficiency is essential, but it's the ongoing development of myself as a person that truly advances my work.

Each assignment becomes not just an opportunity to create images, but to bring my full self to serve my clients' needs.

For those just starting their photographic journey, or even veterans seeking to elevate their work, Paolo's wisdom offers a crucial perspective shift: Don't just invest in better equipment or technical training. Invest in yourself. Read widely. Travel boldly. Engage deeply with art and culture. Build meaningful relationships. Develop strong convictions.

Because ultimately, the power of your images won't come from your camera settings - it will come from the richness of the life you bring to each moment you photograph.