Finally, radiation. I’d had my lumpectomy, done tons of chemo, and now was looking at thirty-three rounds of radiation—five days a week for the next few months—the last part of my treatment protocol. I chose a facility close to my home. It was a mile each way, so I figured I’d get some exercise and could make photos along the way.

I start observing all of the people I pass on my daily walk to treatment. We all seem so different when really, at our core, we’re the same. I think about how we often go through life making snap judgments and assumptions. Perhaps it’s a way we distance ourselves from taking in deeper truth of what another person’s life might hold…what our own life might hold. These folks don’t necessarily know I’m going through cancer. I certainly don’t know what they’re going through. But we all have a story.

One day on my walk, I cross paths with a hardcore gangbanger. He has this stunning tattoo on the back of his bald head. I want to photograph him so bad. But you can’t just ask a gangbanger if you can take his picture. Then I think, why not? You’re overcoming cancer. Just ask.

I approach him. He’s a bit guarded; shoots me a daring look, like, “You wanna take my picture?” I take off my hat. His eyes widen when he sees my bald head and he says, “Oh,” then gently nods yes.

He walks a little further up the street and stops at an entrance to a building. I look up and see these ceiling beams above him. They seem to be spreading out from his head…like this radiance of spirit. The photo gods are with me.

Asking to be seen and subsequently someone giving you permission to see them can be an uncomfortable proposition. But setting mistrust aside clears fertile ground for breaking through stereotypes. It allows us to see one another honestly. In this moment we are here, our hearts are connecting, and there is an energy that flows between us…life force.

Twenty-two more rounds of radiation to go. I decide that every day I will stop at this building and make a portrait of whoever shows up. Some days the first person I ask says yes. Other days I approach a half-dozen people before anyone agrees. It’s hard; I ache to be done and head home, but I reaffirm: Not until you’ve made someone’s portrait. For me, follow-through is vital.

I met many lovely people there, under the radiant beams. The angels. The empathy we reflected to one another bore witness to all the joys and sorrows of living.