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Kelly · Aug 17, 2026

you don't need to know where something is going

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Kelly · Kelly

When I first bought my camera in 2022, I never imagined it would lead to anything.

I was 21, studying at university and working part-time jobs to save some money on the side. At the time, I was following a path that felt pretty familiar: work hard, get good grades, go to university, get a stable job and build a career from there.

Growing up in a Chinese household, there was a lot of emphasis on education and having a secure career. You study hard, get into a good university, get a good job and keep climbing. It was the path I had always assumed I would follow.

Then the pandemic happened.

I lost a family member, and grief has a way of putting everything into perspective. It made me realise just how short and unpredictable life can be, and suddenly the future I had been working towards didn’t feel quite as important as it once had.

I had always been drawn to the idea of travelling and living abroad. It was one of those dreams I kept putting to the side, telling myself I’d do it eventually. After losing someone close to me, “eventually” started to feel a lot less certain.

So I made a decision that, at the time, felt pretty terrifying: I dropped out of my postgraduate degree and decided to move to South Korea.

Part of it was wanting to experience living somewhere completely new. Part of it was finally doing something I had wanted to do for years. And a small but important part of it was wanting to document the experience.

That’s where the camera came in.

I bought it with money I had saved from working part-time jobs before moving to South Korea. I was about to embark on a completely new chapter of my life and wanted something to document it with.

That was really it.

I wanted to take photos of the places I was going to see.

The unfamiliar streets. Little cafés. Architecture. Sunsets. Train stations. Convenience stores. Random corners that caught my eye. The everyday moments that felt insignificant at the time but somehow became the things I remembered most.

I wasn’t thinking about building a portfolio.

I wasn’t thinking about working with brands.

I definitely wasn’t thinking about turning photography into something I could make money from.

I just really loved taking photos.

I started sharing my photos online in 2022, mostly because I enjoyed having somewhere to put them.

At the time, I had no real strategy behind it. I wasn’t following a content calendar or thinking about personal branding. I was just experimenting, learning how to use my camera and documenting my time abroad.

Slowly, people started noticing.

Then brands started noticing.

And eventually, something I had originally picked up as a hobby started becoming part of my work.

Looking back now, it’s strange to think about how different my mindset was at the beginning.

I didn’t know that the photos I was taking while exploring Korea would eventually become part of a portfolio.

I didn’t know that portfolio would help me get noticed by tourism boards and brands.

I didn’t know that those opportunities would eventually lead to paid collaborations.

And I certainly didn’t expect one of those collaborations to help me pay off my student debt.

None of that was the plan.

There wasn’t really a plan.

I just kept taking photos.

First day of work orientation in Korea (left), Gyeongbokgung Palace (middle), taken near the end of my work contract in Korea (right)

It’s easy to look at this story and focus on the opportunities.

The paid collaborations.

The portfolio.

The brands.

The fact that something I enjoyed eventually became something I could monetise.

And I’m incredibly grateful for all of those things.

But honestly, some of my favourite photographs have absolutely nothing to do with work or money.

They’re the ones that transport me back to a specific moment.

A photo can remind me exactly what it felt like to walk through a particular neighbourhood, discover somewhere I’d never been before or sit somewhere watching the sunset.

Some photos remind me of the person I was when I took them.

I think that’s one of the unexpected gifts of documenting your life.

You don’t always realise you’re preserving a memory until years later, when you come across an old photograph and suddenly remember how you felt in that exact moment.

The places I’ve travelled to.

The people I met.

The seasons of my life that have already passed.

The version of myself who was living abroad alone for the first time.

Photography has allowed me to hold onto little pieces of all of them.

And no amount of money can really replace that.

I think we’re often encouraged to be strategic about everything we do.

If you’re going to learn something, it should be useful.

If you’re going to spend time on a hobby, you should eventually monetise it.

If you’re creating content, it should grow your audience.

If you’re learning a skill, it should improve your career.

There’s always this pressure to know what the point of something is.

But what if there doesn’t need to be one?

What if you can just be interested in something?

What if you can take photos because you like taking photos?

Read books because you enjoy reading.

Learn how to edit videos because you find it interesting.

Write because you have something you want to say.

Make something simply because you want to see if you can.

I think there’s a lot of value in allowing yourself to be a beginner at something without immediately asking whether it’s productive.

Because sometimes the things we do without a clear purpose end up becoming the skills we carry with us.

Photography taught me more than how to use a camera.

It taught me how to see things differently.

It taught me how to tell stories visually.

It taught me how to edit, create, experiment and put my work out into the world even when I wasn’t sure how it would be received.

And, perhaps most importantly, it gave me the confidence to realise that you can teach yourself something.

You don’t necessarily need a degree, formal qualification or someone to give you permission to start.

You can learn by doing.

You can be bad at something for a while.

You can experiment.

You can get better.

And eventually, that skill might become part of your career, your portfolio or even a source of income.

At the same time, I don’t think every hobby needs to become monetised.

That’s something I’ve become more conscious of as I’ve gotten older.

There’s a strange pressure online to turn every interest into a side hustle.

You cook? Start a food account.

You read? Become a book creator.

You take photos? Sell presets.

You travel? Become a travel creator.

You write? Start a newsletter.

And while I’m incredibly grateful that some of my interests have eventually become part of my work, I don’t think that should be the goal of every hobby.

Sometimes a hobby can simply be a hobby.

Sometimes the value is that it makes your life a little more interesting.

Sometimes it’s the thing you do after work because it makes you happy.

And sometimes, completely unexpectedly, it opens a door you didn’t know existed.

You don’t need to decide which one it will be before you begin.

You might build a portfolio.

You might discover a skill you didn’t know you had.

You might meet people you wouldn’t otherwise have met.

You might get an opportunity you never expected.

You might even find a way to make money from something you genuinely enjoy.

Or maybe nothing particularly extraordinary will happen.

And that’s okay too.

You’ll still have the memories.

You’ll still have learned something.

You’ll still have spent time doing something that made you happy.

That’s enough.

When I look back at the camera I bought in 2022, I don’t think about it as the camera that helped me get paid collaborations.

I think about it as the camera I bought before moving to Korea.

The camera I carried around while figuring out how to live in a new country.

The camera that helped me notice the little things.

The camera that documented a chapter of my life I never want to forget.

Everything else that came from it was a bonus.

So yes, maybe I do take too many photos.

But I’m really glad I did.

And if there’s something you’ve been wanting to try, something that feels a little silly, impractical or pointless, maybe you don’t need to know where it’s going yet.

Just start.

You never know what it might become.

And if you’re new here, hi, I’m Kelly.

I started this newsletter as a place to share the things I’m curious about, from travel and books to creativity, money, photography and all the little experiments that make life more interesting.

A lot of what I write about comes back to the same idea: how do we make a life that actually feels like our own? Sometimes that means travelling somewhere new, picking up a camera, reading more, spending less or simply trying something because you’re curious about it.

If you’re into that too, consider this your invitation to stick around and subscribe.

And I’d love to know: what’s something you started without knowing where it would lead? Tell me in the comments. I’m always curious to hear what other people are making, learning and figuring out.

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This post is part of my navigating twenties series, a collection of newsletters where I share a mix of personal essays, practical advice, recommendations and resources covering everything from navigating your twenties and building a career to travel, money, books, creativity and creating a life you actually enjoy.

If this post has made you want to pick up a camera, start writing, learn a creative skill or simply document more of your everyday life, here are a few things I’ve personally found helpful or would recommend exploring.

Start with the camera you already have.

This is probably the least exciting advice, but also one of the most useful. You don’t need the newest camera or an expensive lens to start learning.

Your phone is enough.

A secondhand camera is enough.

The camera that’s been sitting in your cupboard for three years is enough.

Learn how light works. Experiment with composition. Pay attention to what catches your eye. Take the same photograph from different angles. Look at photographs you love and try to understand why you like them.

And take a lot of bad photos.

That’s genuinely part of learning.

If you’re still curious:

One of the best ways I’ve found to learn creatively is to study work that inspires you.

Save photographs you love.

Pay attention to the lighting, framing, colours, perspective and subject.

Then try recreating the feeling yourself.

Over time, you’ll start developing your own visual style almost without realising it.

YouTube is full of incredibly detailed photography tutorials covering everything from camera settings and composition to Lightroom editing.

You can learn an enormous amount without spending hundreds of dollars on courses.

If there’s a specific thing you want to learn, search for that exact thing.

Instead of “how to become a better photographer,” try:

  • “how to photograph architecture”

  • “how to shoot in low light”

  • “how to photograph interiors”

  • “how to use manual mode”

  • “how to edit travel photos in Lightroom”

  • “how to create a consistent photography style”

The more specific the question, the easier it is to actually learn something useful.

If you want to build a portfolio, don’t wait until you think your work is “good enough.”

Share it.

Put it on Instagram.

Create a simple portfolio.

Start a photography account.

Submit it to publications.

Enter competitions.

You don’t have to announce that you’re building a career from it.

You can simply start putting your work somewhere people can find it.

You never know who might come across it.

I think this is probably the most important one.

You are allowed to be bad at something before you’re good at it.

You are allowed to change your mind.

You are allowed to try something and decide you don’t like it.

You are allowed to create something that nobody sees.

You are allowed to have hobbies that never make you money.

And you’re allowed to have hobbies that unexpectedly do.

You don’t have to know what something will become before you give yourself permission to begin.

Sometimes you just need to follow the small, slightly silly idea that keeps coming back to you.

Take the photo.

Write the essay.

Learn the skill.

Make the thing.

You never know where it might lead.

And if nothing else, you’ll have something you made along the way.

In case you missed out:

Instagram

Long-form content

Part 16 of articles worth reading in your twenties

That’s it for now, but you’ll be hearing from me soon!

Until next time,

Before you go: You can find me on Instagram, Fable, and TikTok to keep up with my updates, oversharing and recommendations in real-time.

Resources I can’t live without

Read the original on kellytoday.substack.com

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