HALF THE BATTLE
HEARTBREAKING: WHEN THE WORST PERSON YOU KNOW MAKES A GOOD POINT
It’s one of the most everlasting memes on the internet, stemming from a 2018 Clickhole article - sometimes varying in image and exact phrase, as memes do - but the gist always remaining the same:
Even shitty people are right every once in a while.
That meme is the first thing I thought of just now, upon discovering the origin of 'showing up is half the battle’ - a phrase I use so frequently that I guess I could say it’s a mantra of mine. The quote, or something very similar, is largely attributed to… wait for it… Woody Allen. God damn it.
I’ll be honest, I don’t know anything about his work. Gun-to-my-head if I had to name three of his movies I’m probably not making it home. It’s a giant hole in my pop-culture knowledge and I am just fine with that. But I am familiar with the accusations, the headlines, the documentary, etc... so not only do I not look up to Woody Allen, I do the opposite. Fuck him and his boring ass movies.
But good lord, he really cooked with this one:
“Eighty to ninety percent of life is just showing up.”
The phrase, like the meme, has morphed over time but stayed true to it’s meaning. It’s been reduced to only ‘half’ nowadays (which can be said about a lot in life) so that’s how I muttered it to myself as I hit the back button on Spotify to the start the song over. I was listening to ‘Shine On Me’ by an artist who goes by the name of BigWalkDog. Glorious piano keys tip-toe over haunting, pitch-lowered choir voices and thunderous bass. Triumphant. Booming. Beaming with self-assurance, but with a message that asks for help from the sky above. An idea that I could certainly get behind in this very moment. See, cocktail hour was already halfway over and I had just 30 minutes before the show began. But here I was, still on my couch at home, searching for confidence in just one more spin of the song.
What the hell is so scary about this!? JUST SHOW UP.
“He really just needed a push”
The event was the 9th Annual Compassion Through Fashion Show held at the Myrtle Beach Convention Center to benefit New Directions of Horry County. It’s an intersection of fashion, charity, and local pride. An event for people that care. About people, about this area, about each other. Perfect. I care!
The evening consisted of some live music, a silent auction, and a fashion show and contest featuring local designers and models using all recycled materials. All proceeds from the night going to individuals and families experiencing homelessness in Horry County through New Directions. A glittery yet down-to-earth event for a cause that I still care about and contribute to in my hometown, right here in my current neighborhood. Hell, I’ve even crashed a fashion show before. This has my name written all over it. So how have I not been this event yet?
That’s a sore subject. Or it was, at least. For the past few years I have, regrettably, watched this event come and go. It was always one excuse or another; no one to go with, I don’t know anyone involved, seems like they got it covered already. I messaged their Instagram account a couple times asking if they needed a volunteer photographer and never got a response. The silence was intimidating. It seemed like a big, scary deal. Of course they already have the photo situation covered - it’s a fashion show - and who the fuck are you? This larger-than-life impression I had of the event loomed over as I promised myself: Next year, year after year. Well guess what buddy: Next year is now. It started 30 minutes ago, actually.
As the song ended, yet again, took a deep breath and grabbed my keys. I still don’t know anyone. They still haven’t responded to a message or a comment. The event is bigger and scarier than ever. So what’s different this year?
MOMENTUM.
I started 2025 with a successful trip Home (uppercase H), hosting a meetup and catching my first snowstorm in years. Then I flew home (lowercase h) and CAUGHT ANOTHER SNOWSTORM, the photos from which went viral (thanks Ed!) garnering tons of new eyeballs on my work. Then I made the second round of the Grand Strand Photo Contest making the final 20 out of 130+ entries, a 100% improvement from my last time entering. Follow that with multiple trips to Charleston, more features, more connections, more measurable progress. And finally, just the other day I see on Teagan’s Instagram feed photos of her SIGNING PICTURES THAT I TOOK for her young adoring fans at a convention. It took my breath away. The kids were looking at her like she’s already as famous as she will be soon. They know.
FOLKS, WE ARE ROLLING.
So, wearing my most fashionable hoodie, with the victorious sounds of Mr. WalkDog on and eight weeks of momentum my side, I was finally ready. I don’t need anyone but myself. I don’t need a response. I’m going to show up and do what I do. I can be a positive addition. I care.
I managed to squeeze the song in one more time on the ride over, although just barely - I only live about one ‘Shine On Me’ from the convention center. At this point I was searing it into my brain, the same way Mark tried to burn an image into his mind’s eye before he gets on the elevator in Severance. My soundtrack for the night, on loop somewhere in my head, like a musical crutch.
I find a parking spot, tell myself that I was made for this, and make my way into the event.
I was evidently the last one to arrive, somewhere between fashionably late and almost didn’t make it. The check-in area was empty, aside from the woman behind the iPad at the folding table by the entrance. “Can I help you?” she asked, as if I was wearing a Terminix outfit and I accidentally showed up to spray for bugs at the wrong building. Rough start.
I told her I just bought my ticket online and gave her my name. She hands me the program and - wait a sec - is that AI on the cover? Yuck. That needs to be a bucket next year.
I take a few steps to the entrance and take one more deep breath. You can’t run, let it shine on me.
Whew, there’s a lot of fancy looking people in here. A really different crowd than I’m familiar with in Myrtle. All different ages, dressed to the nines, and everyone’s smiling. This is clearly a big deal, something people have been looking forward to. Everyone looks so nice. Where have these people been my whole life!? [Editor’s note: Here! And you weren’t! Until now!]
It was a huge venue. Attendance in the hundreds for sure. Several vendors, tons of food, and few stations set up to learn about charitable causes. And what do you know: a photo booth. I just flew 900 miles to be the official photographer for a ‘Red Carpet Photo Booth’ at a Gala in CR in November. And here was one a few minutes from my apartment (being run by someone else). Am I on their turf or are they on mine? I wondered, briefly. It doesn’t matter. If anyone here has a problem with me shooting photos and giving them to the people involved, they’re going against the very spirit of the whole night anyway. Right?
I spot an Instagram-ready CTF 2025 light display sitting in the corner opposite of the photo booth. I’ll start there. I snap a quick pic and post it with the caption HALF THE BATTLE. [Editor’s note: It was before I learned about it’s origin, ugh. ]
The first person I talked to was the guy in the shot below. I showed him the photo on my camera screen and his eyes lit up. Instant feedback you love to see as a photographer. I promised I would send it to him, and as we exchanged info he told me he has a business down on the boulevard, and was working on a deal with the NFL for one of his products. He also said that he believes stuff happens for a reason.
I am definitely in the right place.
Whatever he said after that was drowned out by the triumphant score from Shine On Me, cattle-prodded into the side of my brain and, in correlation with confidence, was now too loud to hear anything else.
That’s the thing about that background music - you wanna keep it in the background, or it’s self-defeating. Revving up the human brain for a single goal, being solely focused on one objective or attitude with such intensity can result in tunnel vision, which can ultimately be detrimental to reaching that goal. If you spend all day pretending to be a hammer, everything starts to look like a nail.
With that in mind, I had to whip myself into a frenzy to get here - I mean, how much confidence do you have? Enough to show up to a fashion show by yourself? I don’t mean bravery or courage, I specifically mean confidence. There is a difference. When you run into a burning building no one asks you what you’re doing there. This is not that, and I promise I am not getting it confused with bravery. I mean, would you get up right now, get in your car by yourself and drive to an event with hundreds of formally dressed strangers, only to offer something that they already have? It’s a fancy, intimidating, expensive cold-call, and what you’re selling is you. So dialing up to that level, which took all day, focusing only on the confidence aspect just to make it there - then dialing it back when finally comfortable - was a balancing act that I was learning while up on the wire.
The same way one mile-per-hour over the limit will get you pulled over, one notch too far on the confidence dial gets you to ‘cocky’. People like driving fast but they do not like getting tickets; they like confidence but they do not like cockiness.
There are likely a few people I spoke with after my first encounter that thought I was driving a little too fast, turned one notch too far on that dial. To them I apologize, and leave them with this: It's the only way I made it here.
I mentioned before that this wasn’t even the first time I’ve ‘crashed’ a fashion show - back in late 2016 I showed up to one at Lionbridge Brewing very early in my photo career. I was on the back half of a sleepless two-day bender, a powerhouse display of barely keeping it together in public, and therefore ‘confidence’ likely never even crossed my mind. I attended with one of the models, probably moved like a bull in a china shop, and air-balled every shot. I was so bad. My presence was simply not justified - but at least I believed I deserved to be there.
I would eventually go on to work that off over the years. I kept shooting, kept showing up (although usually still drunk) and ended up overshadowing that performance to the point that it’s been long forgotten by most. But it still sits with me, as do most things I’ve done to embarrass myself over the years. If you can find a way to use that as fuel for the fire without dwelling or getting stuck on it, then it can be a never-ending source of motivation to get better - there are just so many mistakes in a lifetime to that can be corrected, and I have more than average.
The one and only scare of the night was when a very important looking person asked who I was shooting for - I’m sure I went ghost white - before she said “Oh because you can get closer if you want, I wasn’t sure if you were here with one of the designers.” I immediately spilled my guts. About the Instagram messages, the desire to be a part of the event, the nervousness to do so. It turns out I was talking to the right person. Her name was Erica and she is the Events Coordinator for New Directions, aka the person in charge. She said yes, they have a professional outfit for the event but that I was more than welcome to keep shooting and that she would love any of photos that I could provide, both from tonight and opportunities in the future. I almost hit my head on the ceiling. This is the conversation I was meant to have when I woke up this morning. I just had to get off my couch and go find it.
As the show progressed, I got some decent shots from the runway walks but nothing that blew me away. I was trying not to step on anyone’s toes, so I shot from deep and I moved spots frequently. A three-point contest, so to speak. I was moving to the next view when - wait a sec - is that person blind?
Holy shit. Contestant #13 is a blind woman walking the runway… in heels?. All this talk of confidence and me working up the nerve, all the anxiety brought upon myself - it all felt so fucking stupid. What an able-bodied IDIOT I was.
Look this display of ACTUAL confidence.
Walking a fashion show without the ability to see - and crushing it. I need to re-think everything, and probably go say a prayer.
As I wandered (to the girl scout cookie table and back) and contemplated my stupidity, I ended up next to a gal named Ally who was there working with one unique contestant - they were representing a salon for the first time in the contest’s nine year history. Their dress was made of recycled materials from the salon - flowers made of foil, a skirt from rubber gloves and a corset made from wrappers and combs. A work of art for sure. I assured Ally that I got some good shots of the dress and model, and got their info so I could send the pictures over afterwards. Not long after, I spotted the model and introduced myself. Her name was Krysta, and I told her too: I got some great shots I’ll be sure to send em over.
I was buzzing off the energy of the evening, moving through the room self-assuredly, pounding waters and making repeat appearances at the girl scout cookie table. This was going great.
Then I sat down and reviewed shots. I scrolled through the camera dial with my thumb, searching for Krysta.
Brick, brick, air-ball.
Oh no. I got caught speeding.
I circled back around to the gals from the salon and poked around the topic of the models doing one last walk. They said yes, there was one final walk as a big group. Perfect, I said, although it was not. A group walk makes the desired shot considerably tougher. I’ll be sure to focus on Krysta when she goes by again, I said and thanked them for the info.
I find a spot, and wait in anticipation for the MC to announce the final walk. This feels like overtime. I just need an iconic shot of Krysta; I can turn it in to everybody involved, and it will end up being a lasting, enduring image representing a first for us both.
Then the models did their final walk, she was crowded in with others, and I missed the shot.
Damn it. I looked down at the photo. There are some ‘icons’ on the screen, indicating the ability to move forward or backward on the memory card, but that is the only thing ‘iconic’ about what I saw on my camera.
As I scrolled through again, the background noise started to make itself legible, I realize that the MC is announcing winners. Winners walk again. My head shoots up. All of a sudden I have a horse in the race. Badd Hare. Please say Badd Hare.
“And most creative goes to BADD HARE.”
DOUBLE OVERTIME. I had my third chance.
And as it turned out, a fourth and fifth as well. They cleaned up. Out of almost thirty competitors, it turns out I made friends with the big winner of the night; also collecting awards for Most Money Raised and People’s Choice. They walked multiple times, back-to-back, designer and model both striking poses. For me, it was the equivalent of the father at their kid’s birthday party finally just holding the piñata in place so the kid can finally make some fucking contact. Thanks Dad.
As the night wound down, thank-yous were made, tables cleared out and the DJ provided a pleasant soundtrack designed for parting ways. I reached for my phone to see if anybody had commented on my post from the event, and - wait a sec. Where is my phone!?
Oh god damn it. I lost my phone.
What table did you sit at? One of the volunteers asked as she collected centerpieces and tablecloths.
I was on the move all night, I said. Were we assigned to a table? I’m so new to this.
I was starting to panic again, but in hindsight, I realize it was really only because that’s how I’ve been conditioned over the smartphone era. The phone’s locked, I wasn’t expecting any calls and I have a backup at home, a mile away. It really wasn’t the end of the world that I’ve subconsciously convinced myself that it was, or perhaps would be in other other scenarios. So I tried to stay cheery and positive and I searched the room, although I know it showed in my posture and voice that I was growing more and more worrisome.
“The rain, it gon come,
don’t run, let the sun, just shine on me”
By now the lights had come on in the venue and it was mostly just volunteers left, many of whom knew I was on the hunt. A few of the remaining attendees who had obviously been to the ‘Wine Wall’ that evening pulled me over and asked if I would take their picture in front of the CTF sign. I grumpily obliged, then proceeded to watch them comically try to find the right pose for what felt like a half-hour (one lady wanted to sit down on the ground?) Now as I tell it, it’s hilarious, but at the time I wanted to explode at the thought of my phone walking off with someone else, even as an accident, because these ladies couldn’t get it together for a Facebook picture.
One of the volunteers helping to do tear-down said she would pray for me as I continued to look. Honestly, thank you. She understood.
A few more laps and I had basically met everyone involved with the event, something I needed to do anyway. Perhaps this was meant to be.
A few people suggest I go find Erica, the head organizer that I met earlier. I locate her behind one of the makeshift walls set up for the show and - lo and behold, it’s my phone sitting on the table. I unlock it for proof, which she adamantly shook off (no one would steal a phone at an event like this) and then, just like Mark getting off the elevator, I turned back into the person I was before. I even offered to help tear down, but Erica assured me they had all the hands they needed for the night.
As I passed through the lobby, I see the three ladies from the Facebook photo shoot. They hadn’t gotten far.
Yo, I am so sorry, those pictures were probably terrible. I lost my phone and wasn’t focused.
No! They said, they’re perfect we love them, we understand. I ended up chatting with them for another ten minutes. They were delightful.
This was such a success.
As head out to my car I check my phone to see if anyone responded to my post from the CTF sign. No, but I did get an email from New Horizons, and the subject line almost brought me to my knees in the parking lot:
(It’s half the battle.)