Going Places Yulia Denisyuk

I am continuing to open up paid subscription issues like this one to everyone through the end of the month, in case they may help someone deal with the challenges of the current crisis a little bit better.
Dear friends, welcome to Ad Astra. It’s so wonderful to be able to welcome you here.
This week, I was watching Russell Brunson, a self-made entrepreneur and YouTuber, tell his life story in one of his videos. Russell’s high-energy (some would say aggressive) style is not something I particularly enjoy, but amidst his bombastic speech, there was a message that resonated with me (in fact, it’s a message I hear — and try to spread — often):
Becoming a master is a process. Don’t expect to get good in the blink of an eye.
Stories of overnight success abound on social media and in our psyches, but that thing truly doesn’t exist. To get good at something — anything — you have to spend time honing your craft.
So that’s the topic I’d like to discuss today: becoming a master.
“The most important possible thing you can do is do a lot of work.”
By far, the question I get most often from folks is “How do I get published in National Geographic?”
To me, a more appropriate question would be “What should I be doing every single day to become a master at X (where X is the thing that you most desire for yourself)?”
Last I checked, there were 22,136 images in my Lightroom processing software. These are not all the images I have ever taken, nor the images I have taken in the past four years since I started on this path.
These are the images that I have imported from my hard drives and edited in the past four years. That’s roughly 16 images a day, every single day, for the past four years, that I have actively worked on.
The first Nat Geo assignment happened roughly 16 thousand edited images into this path.
The numbers here are not important. What matters is that we do something to hone our craft consistently, over time.
And that’s how we get closer to mastery.
Ira Glass, a beloved host of This American Life, explains this better than me:
“Nobody tells people who are beginners — and I really wish somebody had told this to me — that all of us who do creative work … we get into it because we have good taste. But there’s a gap: for the first couple years that you’re making stuff, what you’re making isn’t so good, OK?
It’s trying to be good, it has the ambition to be good, but it’s not quite that good. But your taste — the thing that got you into the game — your taste is still killer, and your taste is good enough that you can tell that what you’re making is kind of a disappointment to you.
A lot of people never get past that phase. A lot of people at that point, they quit. And the thing I would like to say to you with all my heart is that most everybody I know who does interesting creative work, they went through a phase of years where they had really good taste and they could tell what they were making wasn’t as good as they wanted it to be — they knew it fell short, it didn’t have the special thing that we wanted it to have.
Everybody goes through that. And for you to go through it, if you’re going through it right now, if you’re just getting out of that phase — you gotta know it’s totally normal. And the most important possible thing you can do is do a lot of work — do a huge volume of work.
Put yourself on a deadline so that every week, or every month, you know you’re going to finish one story. Because it’s only by actually going through a volume of work that you are actually going to catch up and close that gap. And the work you’re making will be as good as your ambitions.
I took longer to figure out how to do this than anyone I’ve ever met. It takes a while, it’s gonna take you a while — it’s normal to take a while. And you just have to fight your way through that, okay?”
Watch the full video, Ira Glass On Storytelling, here. I high

I am continuing to open up paid subscription issues like this one to everyone through April, in case they may help someone deal with the challenges of the current crisis a little bit better.
Dear friends, welcome to Ad Astra. It’s so good to have you here.
This week, I struggled a bit coming up with a theme for this newsletter. I have a long list of topics to cover, but every time I’d sit down to approach any of them, no words would come out. In short, my inspiration decided to take a break. It’s normal and it happens to everyone.
And yet, I couldn’t skip a week just because my inspiration was lackluster. I made a commitment to myself and to you ⁠— my readers ⁠— for weekly issues. Skipping one wasn’t an option, so I sat down to write anyway.
And here, in the paragraph above, lies the answer promised to you in the subject line.
(I’m experimenting again with the audio version of this newsletter. At the suggestion of a friend, I’m going to try to make it more conversational. Check out the audio version if you prefer to listen to — rather than read — your content.)
The secret to reaching your dreams is commitment
I often get this question in emails, DMs, and comments on social media: “How did you become a travel photographer and writer, published in great magazines, traveling for work and creating stories?” (Sometimes the question is posed like this: “Your life is a dream, how do I get one too?”)
I suspect that what people want to hear in response is some sort of a “secret formula”, a “get-there-quick” action plan, a “golden ticket” to the destination of your dreams.
Alas, reality is often more prosaic than that. There is no formula for becoming someone you want to be overnight. No meaningful, lasting changes happen in a blink of an eye.
The truth is boring and the secret to reaching your dreams is simple: you have to commit to your path.
In the years since I’ve quit my job, I’ve had many opportunities to abandon my path. At times, it felt more attractive to just give up, find another job, get a paycheck, and stop fighting for my dream life.
But I guess I have issues with non-commitment. Once I’ve started something, I am compelled to see it through. And in a way, this attitude made sticking to this path a little bit easier for me.
“Time is short, my strength is limited, the office is a horror, the apartment is noisy, and if a pleasant, straightforward life is not possible then one must try to wriggle through by subtle maneuvers.”
— Franz Kafka
I love this quote by Franz Kafka; in it lies the wisdom for reaching your dreams. Sometimes, our path is straightforward and we transition from one step to the next with ease. Other times, all we can do is wriggle through by subtle maneuvers. What matters is that we keep trying and keep moving forward, no matter how hard the path gets.
Side note: when I first started on this path of becoming a travel photographer and writer, I devoured Daily Rituals: How Artists Work. This 300-page book documents the sometimes strange, sometimes rigorous habits and practices that creative people throughout centuries — Albert Einstein, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Ayn Rand and a lot more — have employed in order to accomplish work they love.
Sticking to habits, another word for commitment, largely ruled.
No one becomes a professional in a chosen field overnight. In the Middle Ages, the system of apprentices learning from master craftsmen was widespread. It took a long time, often years, to become a master.
And yet, the age of Instagram influencers has convinced us that we can just show up and be successful right away. No matter how many followers one has, overnight success is still a (quite harming) illusion.
Commitment to your path is essential. It increases your chance for success because you’re willing to try repeatedly for a breakthrough.
Elizabeth Gilbert supported herself with waitressing jobs for years before she struck gold with Eat, Pra

I am continuing to open up paid subscription issues like this one to everyone through April, just in case they may help someone deal with the challenges of the current crisis a little bit better.
Dear friends, welcome to Ad Astra. It’s so great to have you here.
For the past few weeks, I have been dealing with an issue: at random times throughout the day, I’d feel extremely sleepy and tired. So tired that sitting in front of my laptop for more than a minute would be akin to torture.
I’d try to power through it, but before I knew it I’d find myself mindlessly scrolling through Facebook or skipping through Instagram Stories. No work would get done.
I’d call myself a lazy bum and return to my laptop, trying to muster my concentration and focus. A few minutes later, I’d be back in the same loop.
Like many around me, I’ve lost a lot of work in the past few weeks. A photo editor I’ve been discussing a project with (before this thing started) has graciously emailed to let me know that he’s been put on furlough. All of my travel projects to date have been halted, indefinitely.
In this time of crisis, people who base their identity and sense of worth around the work they do (myself included) can fall into a pit.
Today I’d like to discuss how we can get out of it.
(Stay tuned for next week’s issue where I’ll cover ways to find creative work right now.)
And if you haven’t yet, give a try to the audio version of this issue: I’ve finally figured out new software and the quality has improved quite a bit from previous episodes.
Where worth comes from
Across the industrial world, and especially in the United States, we’ve been made to believe that our worthiness comes not from the simple fact that we exist, but from the work we do, the money we earn, the accomplishments we can tout, and the number of hours we place on the altar of productivity.
I’ve found this a terrible way to live when your sense of worth is based on some external conditions. Perhaps that’s why, through my years of travels, I’ve been inexplicably drawn to Eastern philosophies and regions of the world where ‘wasting the afternoon away’ is a common way to be (note the choice of wording for that particularly Western phrase).
“I am worthy because I exist” has been a tough lesson for me to learn, but I’m slowly getting better at mastering it. (How? Keep reading.)
This week, in particular, I found it soothing to listen to Krista Tippett from the On Being project ponder on this issue. You can listen to this wonderful (and short) segment here: At home, frustrated, and stressed — is 'just being' worthy right now?
Krista posits that being kind to ourselves and settling into ourselves right now is a gift we can offer to the world beyond this crisis.
What a radical thought, right? (and yes, I am being sarcastic here.)
You have been forced to enter empty time.The desire that drove you has relinquished.There is nothing else to do now but restAnd patiently learn to receive the selfYou have forsaken in the race of days.
…
You have traveled too fast over false ground;Now your soul has come to take you back.
Take refuge in your senses, open upTo all the small miracles you rushed through.
Become inclined to watch the way of rainWhen it falls slow and free.
…
Draw alongside the silence of stoneUntil its calmness can claim you.Be excessively gentle with yourself.
Stay clear of those vexed in spirit.Learn to linger around someone of easeWho feels they have all the time in the world.
Gradually, you will return to yourself,Having learned a new respect for your heartAnd the joy that dwells far within slow time.
— Jonh O’Donohue
Exceedingly kind
This week, inspired by John O’Donohue, I made a pledge to be exceedingly kind to myself.
How?
Like with many issues of the mind, our transformation starts with awareness. First, we need to become aware of thoughts that enter our mind, then we practice redirecting them, substituting negative ones

Dear friends, welcome to Ad Astra. I’m so glad you’re here.
For this week’s issue, I decided to get away from it all: the C-word, the news, the anxiety, and the flood of advice on how to work from home, how to be productive during quarantine time, how to quell your worry, or how to wash your hands.
Instead, I’d like to share with you a story I wrote in 2015 when I was on the verge of quitting corporate (in fact I wrote it exactly nine months before I quit).
One year later, this story was picked up by Lonely Planet for their annual travel anthology (you can see it here).
Without further ado, I present to you “The Night Is Young.”
The Night Is Young
My guide Mohammed dismounts his camel, takes off his worn leather sandals and steps on the hot desert sand. The onset of dusk is adding a hint of sorcery to the dunes that loom all around us and I can no longer see the homes of Merzouga village behind the rare Saharan palms.
I cling to my camel, Bob Marley, and follow Mohammed into the desert for an overnight stay.
Bob Marley’s flesh is hot against my skin. The sun is still strong and I am grateful for the elaborate red-cloth turban Mohammed tied on my head a minute ago. Through the narrow slit in the turban, I track Mohammed’s indigo tunic, lit in the ochre dunes, as he guides us deeper into this land. I lose sight of him when we cross a large dune — a sleeping giant — and realize that a camel thread in Mohammed’s hand is the only tie connecting me to another human.
I have to believe that the thread is strong enough.
Bob Marley takes careful steps, sinking to his knees but coming back out each time. After a while, the camel and I get into an ancient rhythm, advancing as one through the desert.
The quiet dunes surround our small caravan and at times seem to cover us whole. Still, we keep going. Mohammed gazes far beyond the horizon and charges ahead as if an invisible path were etched into the dunes.
I catch the last glimpse of the sun before the next slanted dune hides it from view. The air cools down and my camel perks up. The night is quickly falling on the Sahara and Mohammed’s slim silhouette is dissolving into the darkness.
I pull on the camel thread to ensure we are still connected. As if he is sensing my fear, Mohammed turns and sends me a bright wide grin. He must be only a kid, eighteen or twenty at most.
I realize I don’t know much about him, except that his family lives in a nearby village. By the time I go back to New York, he’ll take ten other people on this nightly trek.
I too will have business to attend to upon my return, an unfinished conversation.
It began years ago when I started my corporate career and soon recognized this path was not right for me.
Unhappy with my status quo but afraid to change it, I continued working and tormenting myself and my loved ones for years.
At last, one mild spring night in New York a close friend had asked me, “Why are you wasting your years on something you do not care for?”
The question hung unanswered that night but kept simmering in my mind all the way to the African continent.
Mohammed suddenly breaks the silence with his first words to me, “Algerian border.” He points somewhere far, smiles, and says it again, “Algerian border, there. We are close.”
Ten minutes later our caravan stops at a low valley formed by a circle of barely visible dunes. I say good night to Bob Marley as Mohammed helps me dismantle. The camel, unfazed by my good manners, lies down for the night and we step into the dark.
The sand is now cool to the touch, a welcomed change from the earlier furnace. I drop my bags and run up the nearest dune.
There, on top of the mound, the first star of the night emerges into view. In vain, I try to decipher its elusive flickering message and finally go back down.
Below, Mohammed unhurriedly tends to a fire, looking graceful and fragile at once. I half expect him to turn around and tell me, “You become responsible, fo

This issue (part of the paid subscription) is open to everyone, just in case it may help someone deal with the challenges of the upcoming weeks a little bit better.
Hi friends, welcome to Ad Astra. It’s so wonderful to have you here.
You’ve likely seen this sentiment going around the internet this week:
It’s been surreal to see our lives grind to a halt as we all watch this pandemic march through the globe. I hope you’re taking care of yourself and your loved ones and staying safe.
We don’t know how long this period will last, so let’s try not to waste our strength on feeling anxious, fearful, or angry. This, too, shall pass, one way or another. Love, compassion, and level-headed behavior is what we need right now.
This week, I had a strange realization: this crisis is exactly what my fears have warned me about when they told me to stay at my stable job, hunker down, and forget about my dreams.
It’s surreal. Usually, our worst fears don’t come true. But when the travel industry ⁠— and with it, the rest of the world ⁠— has stopped operating in a matter of days, MY worst fears did realize.
As a travel photographer and writer who also leads other people on trips, this is my worst-case scenario. I’ve had several work trip assignments canceled, the bookings for my travel company are up in the air, and it’s unclear how the industry as a whole will recover.
A freelance travel journalist’s income is haphazard at best during normal times and right now, it’s nonexistent.
So why do I feel so calm? How am I able to carry on while my industry is on fire? This is what I’d like to cover today.
Under pressure
There’s a part of my life I rarely talk about that, I believe, has prepared me well for this time. It’s the reason I can pursue risks with less fear. It’s why I keep calm in situations of stress and anxiety.
Back when I was a green 21-year-old, I joined the US military, specifically the Navy. And while there were a lot of challenges and hardships associated with my service (someday I’ll get into that), the Navy taught me how to operate under extreme pressure.
In the Navy, I was part of an expeditionary aviation unit where every day we launched our pilots up in the air in old flying machines from the 1960s. One wrong part installed, one inspection step missed, and our pilots could die.
So we followed processes to the proverbial t. We had checklists and SOPs (Standard Operating Procedures) for everything you could think of, and we trained, trained, trained every single day.
Why did we train so much? Because after all that training came the time for us to deploy and actually execute what we trained for, in even more stressful conditions.
In my four years of service, I spent two and a half years training in Washington State and one and a half year deployed to Iraq and Afghanistan during the global war on terror campaign of the early 2000s.
You may wonder, “What does this all have to do with me and the uncertainty I face at the beginning of 2020?”
What I’d like to propose to you is that this pandemic and the disruption it’s likely bringing to your doorstep is akin to deployment for military personnel.
Both are stressful. Both are scary. And both can be prepared for, physically and mentally.
In the spirit of my Navy times, I offer you my version of a deployment checklist (yes, that was a real thing we used) below. I hope that this checklist can help you feel a little bit better about the current situation and perhaps prepare for the next time uncertainty hits.
1. Get your bare minimum
During our Iraq deployments, we often experienced sand storms. These were weird moments when the daytime sky went dark from all the sand that a strong wind called shamal brought over the land.
When you’re in the middle of a storm that can last for days, you take everything down to a bare minimum. Food, shelter, medicine, clothes — check. If you have that covered, you’re already doing better than s

Dear friends, welcome to Ad Astra. I’m delighted to have you here.
This issue, Your Survival Guide to Working From Home, was originally going to be for paid subscribers only (if you recall, paid subscribers get three additional issues each month). I’ve decided to open it up to everyone, just in case it may help someone deal with the challenges of the upcoming weeks a little bit better.
If you’ve ever spoken to an editor or been in one’s shoes, you’ll recognize this dilemma: how do we continue with normal programming in times of crises and major disruptions?
Especially in travel, the community I am part of, every publication worth its salt is asking this question right now. Do we continue to cheer on far-flung locales while travel bans are disrupting our lives? Or do we switch our coverage to COVID-19, because it’s on everyone’s minds?
In my view, there is a fine line between staying true to your publication’s purpose — topics that readers come to you for and expect to find on your pages — and covering something that’s urgently weighing on many people’s minds.
I’m going to try to walk that line today.
And while I am not delving into the topic of this pandemic directly (I am not an expert in pandemics; all I know right now is to wash my hands, stay home, and protect my loved ones who are especially vulnerable), I’d like to cover the topic of working from home.
⬇️ me not working from home last weekend
Chances are, you will be working from home in the foreseeable future.
Well, this is a topic I can contribute lots of insights to — I have been part of the WFH movement for the past four years.
When I first quit my job (read about it here), I was elated to join this movement.
Yes to a laptop in bed!
Yes to conference calls in pajamas!
Yes to the freedom that comes with setting your own hours.
The reality, as is often the case, is not as glamorous as it sounds.
Working from home has its advantages (and yes, I’ve simplified my choice of outfits dramatically over the past four years) but it comes with its own challenges — isolation, lack of structure, guilt, blending of work and life, your household not treating your “office time” as such…
I’ve dealt with all of that and today, I offer you my insights on how to survive when you’re WFH:
Learn to stop feeling guilty about getting more done in less time
I found that since I’ve transitioned from office work to working from home, I am able to accomplish much more in less time.
How is that so?
I haven’t suddenly turned into a superwoman, so here is my explanation: I waste less time.
Consider this: when you’re working from home, all the things that used to take up time in your workday — commute, standing at the coffee line, waiting for meetings to start, small talk — are no longer there.
The only distractions to fight off now are trips to the fridge and browsing your favorite social media platform. Inevitably, you focus more on what needs to get done for the day and you accomplish it faster.
The trick is to stop feeling guilty about it.
Somehow, we believe that we should be working at least eight hours a day (thanks Industrial Revolution!).
That may work well for a job at the conveyer belt, but if you’re engaged in any kind of intellectual work, that won’t do. Our brain simply isn’t set up to work for eight hours straight. (This UK study found that workers, on average, are productive for only about three hours in their eight-hour workday.)
In this week’s NPR interview, journalist Celeste Headlee gives an interesting explanation for where my guilt may be coming from:
“Headlee believes some of America's obsession with work can be traced back to Martin Luther and the Protestant Reformation in 16th-century Europe. Ideas about working your way to heaven, Headlee explains, "meant that every idle hour was one in which you were not earning your spot with the divine. ... It was your work that made you a good person. A