I wasn’t sure what to expect from Paris.
Like most places that have been photographed, filmed, romanticized, and written about for generations, it felt impossible to arrive without carrying someone else’s opinion with you. Some people describe it as the greatest city in the world. Others seem almost eager to tell you how disappointed you’ll be. By the time I landed, I felt less like I was arriving in a city and more like I was arriving in an idea that millions of people had already formed on my behalf.
What I discovered instead was something far more personal.
This was my first visit to Paris, which surprises even me considering how much I’ve traveled throughout my life. I was there with my mother and my sister, and as I’ve gotten older, I’ve realized that who you travel with often matters more than where you go. The destinations tend to blur together over time. The people don’t. Some of my favorite memories from this trip have very little to do with Paris itself and everything to do with the conversations we had while walking through it.
There was also something quietly meaningful about being there as the son of a French father. France was always present in my life growing up, but mostly through stories, family history, food, language, and small traditions that somehow survived moving across continents. Walking through Paris didn’t feel like discovering a new place as much as it felt like filling in pieces of a puzzle that had always existed somewhere in the background. Nothing dramatic. No profound realization. Just a sense of familiarity that appeared when I least expected it.
What surprised me most, however, wasn’t the city itself. It was what the city awakened in me.
Photography has been a constant companion throughout most of my life. Long before it became a profession, it was simply how I moved through the world. Carrying a camera gave me a reason to pay attention. It forced me to slow down, to notice details that most people walked past, and to appreciate how light, texture, and timing could transform an otherwise ordinary moment into something memorable.
Somewhere along the way, though, that relationship changed.
I don’t think it happened because of one event. If anything, it happened because of many. Work became busier. Life became heavier. Responsibilities accumulated. Photography became less about curiosity and more about execution. I was still creating, still shooting, still delivering work, but there is a difference between using a camera and feeling inspired to pick one up. For the first time in my life, I found myself going long stretches without feeling that pull.
It wasn’t that I had fallen out of love with photography. It was more like the spark had become buried beneath everything else demanding my attention.
Then came Paris.
What struck me wasn’t necessarily the famous landmarks or the postcard views. It was the rhythm of the city. The way morning light moved across stone buildings that had been standing for centuries. The worn corners of café tables. The reflections in windows. The imperfect details that gave everything character. I found myself stopping more often, looking longer, and noticing things that I had unknowingly stopped noticing back home.
Without realizing it, I began carrying my camera differently. I wasn’t bringing it along because I felt obligated to. I wasn’t searching for content or trying to justify the weight around my neck. I simply wanted it with me. The act of photographing became enjoyable again. Not because I was creating anything important, but because I was rediscovering the pleasure of observation.
Looking back, I think that’s what Paris gave me.
It wasn’t inspiration in the grand cinematic sense. It wasn’t some dramatic creative breakthrough. It was quieter than that. It reminded me of the version of myself that first fell in love with photography. The version that photographed things simply because they were beautiful, interesting, or fleeting. The version that wasn’t thinking about clients, deliverables, algorithms, or outcomes.
For the first time in a long time, I found myself excited to go out and make photographs again.
As strange as it sounds, after a year that often felt defined by loss, rebuilding, and focusing on what needed to be done next, Paris offered something I didn’t realize I had been missing. It gave me permission to be curious again.
And sometimes, that’s all creativity really needs.
A city can give you photographs. A trip can give you memories. But every now and then, a place gives you a piece of yourself back.
For me, Paris did exactly that.
-cb