GROUP A: Well-intentioned, amiable folks who are truly kind and loving. They’ve got it going on. Safe.

GROUP B: Bitter, self-deluded ne’er-do-wells who make bad decisions that hurt those around them. Unsafe.

Why must the never-tiring sorter that sits hunched up in my brain find a way to cram every single person into one of these two boxes? With the exception of a few fortunate individuals who have not interacted with me enough to be assigned to either category, I pass this judgment so subconsciously and instantaneously that almost no one I know is immune from its verdict.

Why am I always taken aback when someone from Group B extends me kindness? Why am I so quick to let them switch places with someone from group A who has grieved me? Surely, even the corroded, gnarled-up, ugliest part of my sub-conscious must realize that human beings are more complex than any on/off switch can account for.

I should not be surprised at the members of Group B who demonstrate Group A tendencies—because, you see, Group B does not exist. And neither does Group A. We are each of us a special blend of the two—a treacherous cocktail so equally capable of love and hate that any attempt to see which rules in our hearts from our earth-bound vantage point seems futile at best. It’s like trying to judge someone’s driving by looking at a snapshot of their car.

I am honestly ashamed that this truth has not yet sunk in—especially when all the evidence I could ever need beats in my own chest. Have I not embodied the “Unsafe” so well and so often that any fellow sorters must have me pegged there? How can I look down on others for speaking what flows so naturally from my own lips?

I can’t, of course. But I do. Every day. Every encounter. Every opportunity for my sorter to sort. How I wish I could send that sorter packing—or at least, force myself to realize that just as I sort others, so I will be sorted.

Please, Lord, forgive me for sorting.

Speaking of looking at photography as an artist, I want to give a quick shout-out to my big brother Brian, who is finding all kinds of things to take magnificent photos of in the great state of Massachusetts. Grad school has kept him from posting many of his photos until now, but as of today his Flickr account is full of gorgeous new work.

Here are a couple of my absolute favorites of his (I hope you don’t mind me posting these, Brian!):

I want a giant print of this next one hanging in my house someday:

Please, keep an eye on this Flickr stream for more Brian Julian originals. You won’t be sorry.

There have been a bevy of dashed plans and plenty of chaos rolling around in my life recently, and I have spent so much time thinking about photography as a business person that I have been forgetting to look at it as an artist. To remedy the latter situation and help with the former, I have decided to take a few minutes each day to take photos that are just for me. Whenever I come up with something that particularly tickles my fancy, I’ll share it here.

The amount of worry that I can put into looking, acting, and living a certain way is truly dizzying.

It’s like spending twenty-four hours a day trying to wind the details of your life up into neat little skeins and arrange them on color-coded shelves (and convincing yourself that if just one of those skeins were to come unraveled, life would simply not be worth living) only to discover they are still a tangled mess of yarn on the floor—and what’s more, that these threads have been distracting you from what really mattered all along.

Sometimes I think that all of my anxiety in life can be traced back to that intense desire to be other than I am. Better, in the world’s eyes. Perfect, in my own. I know it’s wrong. But I also know I am not alone in this.

So, please—forgive everyone for not having their skeins neatly wound up and sorted. And even more, have mercy on those of us who are still trying to pretend that we do.