I found it recently – a picture of me, off in the distance, my wispy white blouse slightly lifted by the soft breeze, arms raised holding my brand new camera and attempting to capture the river, the trees, and the sunset beautifying our evenings.

The woman in that photo looks like the real deal, I thought. A serious photographer.

Only a few weeks before I had begged one of my students to help me pick out a camera.

“There are so many options. What are you looking for?” she asked.

How should I know, my knowledge of cameras rivaling that of auto engines and Mandarin Chinese? In other words, nothing.  “I want the best camera that a monkey could use.”

Armed with her suggestion, and easy access to amazon.com, I received my new toy just 2 days later.

Very impressive looking, I thought. You could really fool someone that you know what you’re doing with this thing.

Then I realized I couldn’t even turn it on. Clearly, my student had encountered some monkeys of extraordinary intelligence.

A quick trip to Asia broke it in for me, and I figured out the basics: on button, taking-the-picture button, and pulling-the-image-up-on-screen button. Good enough.

Then I set off for my experiment in creative joy, as it was curiously called, at a spiritual center less than 2 hours outside of Manhattan but worlds away. With dozens of secret wooden paths, an icy cold stream and the sacred essence of the monastery which had filled this space well before us.

Three teachers assemble to take a group of women through a unique experience, filling their days with yoga, writing and photography in an attempt to scrub away the dingy malaise of regular life.

The group was mostly writers, our writing teacher being the most famous and having the greatest reach. Next came the yogis, wearing their open hearts and ever-so-slight cockiness. And a sprinkling of photographers. Nearly everyone was nervous about the photography portion of the program – did they bring the right equipment, would the assignments be too challenging, would they get it wrong?

I was one of those people, unable to even find the zoom function on my camera, much less the macro lens, aperture knob, speed, focus, special effects. The list of what I did not know spiraled all the way up to the cloudless sky of our first morning. This is voluntary, I kept telling myself. I don’t have to participate in the other teacher’s programs. I am choosing this.

The teacher went far to allay everyone’s fears.

“Start simple, just look for light. Don’t think about framing or getting it perfect. Just begin to train your eye to see how light falls and touches things.”

And we were off to roam the huge building and acres of grounds. I filmed windows and hallways, tree leaves and single blades of grass. Flowerpots, crumbling bricks and flecks of silver on the stream entered my lens. I kept catching myself smiling, broadly. My pictures were beautiful.

Each day our assignments grew progressively more advanced and I kept up, with extra help from our teacher and the generous students. I squealed when I learned I had been resting my finger on the zoom knob the whole time. And that my camera could do nearly any special effect.

The four days in my own creative experiment left me with a new language for the life that was being born inside me. Doing the work, without saying the name could be tolerated no more. In front of 75 witnesses, my voice birthed the simple truth:

I am an artist.

What declaration will move YOUR life into greater truth?