When dwelt upon, regret can be a destructive, paralyzing emotion.  When one can move past their regret, it can also be a powerful educational process.

In the past, my most focused moments happen while in thought and prayer on an airplane, or during a documentary/humanitarian trip when I’m thrust from routine to reaction.  It’s amazing to me the clarity that comes when I’m detached from my safety bubble, often having just experienced a part of the world trying to overcome poverty, oppression, the list goes on.

As if clarity was the bait, regret likes to sneak into my thoughts and during those moments, I’m confronted with a choice:  Dwell and stall, or learn and regain forward motion.

While our time in Managua and Puerto Cabezas was truly blessed and successful, I do have one regret.

While visiting La Chureca, Managua’s dwindling city within the dump, we were escorted through various areas by the incredible field staff from Forward Edge International.  In particular, a native Nicaraguan woman named Gloria, who has spent her last 8 years nurturing relationships with those in dump and helping many girls to escape to the haven of Villa Esperanza, “Village of Hope.”

Gloria, who is a true inspiration, was doing her best to find interviews for us, while also having to make sure that our being there didn’t jeopardize the work she’d been doing, compromise the dignity of the people or create a safety concern.  (Word travels quickly in La Chureca and although we traveled light, we still had thousands of dollars worth of gear with us–a target for those wishing only to survive.)

At one particular stop, Gloria ushered us inside the gate of a courtyard area that seemed to serve a few different “houses.”  To get inside the gate, one had to step over a man laying drunk in a puddle leftover from the mornings heavy rain.  For me, this was one of the most visually difficult things to see while in La Chureca.

It’s easy to judge in a situation like this.  This man could be working trying to better his situation, rather than turning to the bottle to hide his pain.  Rather than lay in the mud and water, he could surely be doing something productive.  It appeared he was dwelling, no forward motion in sight.  In all of our infinite first world wisdom, myself specifically, one thing was forgotten as he was mentally shamed.  He’s human.

This man wasn’t their to be on display, I wasn’t in attendance at a theme park or circus and no authority had been given (nor ever will be) for me to judge any man.  A life.  Drunken, muddy and in pain.  My regret?

Without hesitation and with desire to “maximize” the time at La Chureca to get the next interview, I photographed him, and passed by his muddy, wet body.  I didn’t acknowledge his life.   A simple hand on the shoulder, prayer or smile, to briefly share his pain so he would know (even if he didn’t remember) for that one moment, he wasn’t alone.

Now, I am left with a visual reminder, etched in my memory forever.  No matter the circumstance, life is meant to be recognized.  Yet again, I’m reminded that we were intended to be relational, to use words, touch and our time to bless others.

As a photographer, I’m reminded that the most powerful moments in my life haven’t been with the camera raised, but rather when it’s lowered, in order that I might use my eyes to see, ears to hear and hand to touch.  This is my reminder…