“Why do your eyes seem to move in different directions?”

One of the most exciting stages of production is being out in the field, fully immersed in the moment.

A question I often get—sometimes with a few puzzled stares—is:
“Why do your eyes seem to move in different directions?”

Here’s the reason:
As a photographer, it’s not just about nailing composition, camera settings, or lighting. It’s about being hyper-aware of your surroundings. While my right eye is locked onto the viewfinder, my left eye is scanning the space around me—anticipating movement, reading the room, staying alert for the moments that matter most. I’m constantly listening with my eyes.

This kind of dual awareness has helped me consistently capture the perfect shot at the perfect time. It’s also why I often find myself ready before something even happens—reacting not just in real-time, but in predictive time. People often joke that I must be running on some kind of black magic. The truth is: it’s just discipline, attention, and repetition.

A wedding I shot recently is the perfect example of this. The bride was walking in for her grand entrance, and I was focused on her through my viewfinder. But my left eye was locked onto the parents sitting nearby. I instantly noticed their expressions change—tears forming, subtle smiles emerging. Within seconds, I shifted my camera, captured those emotional reactions, then returned to the bride without missing a beat. Those few seconds created the emotional context for the entire scene.

Another time, we were doing a production for Bassem Youssef. I was capturing him on stage, but my peripheral vision caught a woman in the audience bursting into laughter. In the space of 3 to 4 seconds, I increased my ISO with my index finger, decreased shutter speed with my thumb, adjusted focus with my left hand, repositioned my body, and framed the shot. I got it—then immediately returned to capturing Bassem. It looked like a seamless moment, but it came from constantly training my awareness.

This wasn’t a skill I picked up from a manual. It developed naturally through repetition and careful observation. One of the biggest challenges I noticed early on—especially among fellow photographers—was the delay in reacting to unfolding moments. So I made it a habit to always be aware of my environment. Before every shoot, I introduce myself to key people, take mental notes on how they move, and where they’ll likely be. I walk the space, take in the energy—some rooms are electric, others are calm. I note how the light changes throughout the room. I map out pathways I can move through without disrupting guests, identify spots where I can store gear, and make sure I have access to it quickly, even if it’s not the same spot where I stash my backup gear.

Calming myself in chaotic environments starts before the chaos begins. I walk around the space, familiarize myself with the layout, and glance over the itinerary so I know what’s coming. One thing that keeps me grounded is intention-setting. Before every shoot, I ask myself: Why am I doing this? Who is this for? How can these images serve them or even impact the world in some way? That kind of mindset anchors me. Once I have my “why,” I can handle the pressure. I know I’m not just capturing pixels—I’m preserving meaning.

Interestingly, this mindset has served me well beyond photography. In life, it’s helped me anticipate conflict, prepare for emotional responses from people I care about, and lead more proactively. When I can see how someone is likely to react, I don’t wait for the moment to turn tense—I soften it in advance. Whether it's with friends, family, or clients, it’s allowed me to communicate with clarity and calmness before problems even show up.

From a gear perspective, I rely heavily on customizations that support my multitasking. I usually shoot with zone focus modes—pinpoint is too slow unless I’ve got time to breathe. Zone mode lets the camera lock focus in a defined part of the frame, which works about 95% of the time. I also use a custom-mapped shortcut for APS-C crop mode. Sometimes optical zoom isn’t enough, and I need that quick digital bump to frame the shot tighter. It’s not perfect, but it gets the job done—especially when speed matters more than megapixels.

What most people don’t see behind a “perfect” photo is the mental choreography: dozens of micro-decisions made in just a few seconds. From the outside, it looks smooth—even effortless. But that’s only because of years of repetition. At first, it’s all conscious: Where’s the light falling? Is the subject in motion? Will this moment end in a second or linger? Over time, these questions get answered internally before you even realize you’re asking them. That’s what practice does.

So, if you ever notice me looking in two directions at once, just know—one eye’s capturing the moment, the other’s protecting it. Because great photography isn’t just about reacting. It’s about sensing what’s about to happen... and being ready before it does.