I saw a video once titled, Brutal Truth: Nobody Cares About Your Photography. The narrator described a friend who didn’t post his photos on social media. When asked why, he said, “The truth is, nobody cares about my photography. Nobody cares about your photography. Nobody cares about anyone’s photography.”

This struck a chord with me because I had much greater expectations for my photographs when I first ventured into social media. I expected I would post my images and people would flock to my website to purchase prints of my work. Instead, a few people clicked “like,” and the images were forgotten almost as quickly as they appeared.

If you take photographs for your own enjoyment, it doesn’t really matter whether anyone else cares. But if you want people to connect with your work, it’s up to you to make it meaningful to them.

So I found photographers I admired and followed their work. I rediscovered photography principles I had forgotten after setting my camera aside for several years. (There were children to raise and a family to support.) And I spent most of my spare time improving.

My work did improve, but honestly, I still get a better reaction to photos of my dogs than to the images I thought people would notice.

The video suggested that the way to make people care about your photography is by doing work that matters. “Work that matters” also struck a chord with me, as I found it in a place I didn’t expect, a local high school.

In 2010, I started taking sports photos at my daughter’s high school. I photographed my daughter and her teammates. Before long, I was photographing all of the sports teams and other school activities as well.

Somewhere during the process of taking tens of thousands of photos, I realized that these images had great meaning to the students and their parents.

I realized while I set out to capture the action and emotion of these events, I was really capturing memories of all-too-fleeting times in these families’ lives.

I realized that my legacy was not going to be a collection of great art, but rather a collection of memories families will treasure for decades, perhaps generations.

Another of my photos popped up on social media with the hashtag bond that can’t be broken. When a young man looks at a photo and it reflects the bond he feels with his brother, that matters.

I am also thrilled when I walk into someone’s home or office and see photos I’ve taken of family members hanging on the wall. When my images reflect the love they feel for their family, that matters.

Does any of this matter in a change-the-world sort of way? No.  But the fact that those images will outlive me as memories for the families—that matters.

And it makes me feel like I matter.

This story is one of those that matter—the lessons that reflect what the Alex Lebovic Foundation carries forward.

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