I’m a shy and introverted person.

Going to networking events, joining a new meetup group, and eating alone in a restaurant—these are some of the fears that I used to have.

Why? Because I felt people would look at me and whisper to their friends across the table, “He’s eating alone? That’s kinda sad.” And going to networking events? I didn’t think I’d survive if I didn’t have my phone with me for company.

Let me tell you what I was really good at: being a wallflower and pretended I was busy texting and responding emails. In reality, I was swiping the same Facebook newsfeed, hoping something interesting would pop up that I could actually comment on.

I secretly admired people who could travel alone, visit art museums alone, and kayak on Lady Bird Lake alone with a beer and an assorted fruit cup.

Why couldn’t I be brave and stop imagining what other people would think about me being alone?

The problem was, I didn’t know how to overcome that shyness (and those imaginary conversations in my head). I thought I’d live a regretful life, defeated by the high wall I’d created for myself.

I was afraid of doing things alone.

Until this godsend: the Canon DSLR camera I bought three years ago.

I’ve always been into taking pictures, but before, it was on the smartphone level, and even then, I was terrible. So, I decided to get myself a camera that a photographer normally would carry. Fake it ’till you make it, right? I didn’t want to be a professional photographer, but I thought if I had a real camera, I’d be better at taking pictures—and maybe my sister wouldn’t delete all the ones she asked me to take of her.

I did become better at photography, with some help from friends, YouTube tutorials, and endless practice. Now I know how to adjust aperture, ISO, shutter speed, and all that good stuff in different settings.

Moreover, there was an unexpected side effect of carrying a DSLR around: I became braver.

I’ve now traveled alone, stayed at hostels and made like-minded friends, ate alone, and did things that I used to be afraid of doing.

People think I’m a photographer. And more precisely, I think people think I’m a photographer.

Since I’ve gotten the camera, I’ve taken it with me to Japan to see the stunning cherry blossom, attend local meetups in Japan, visit the magnificent Hotel Chateau Frontenac in Quebec City, and enjoy the Hill Country sunsets in Austin, Texas all by myself. I’d shoot some pictures, of course, but the real deal was I got to experience different aspects of life—the parts that I used to believe were “outside my comfort zone.”

I feel safe and calm carrying the camera around my neck, walking around a public deck, and sitting on a long chair near the shore for a while, because that’s what a photographer does, right?

Me and my camera, overcoming that dreadful feeling of aloneness.

But really, it’s all about shifting my mindset: wearing my photographer hat, pretending I was meant to be there, taking photos, and experiencing some of the best moments I’ve ever had in life.

The camera, simply put, is a bridge that allows me to reach a part of myself who isn’t always shy and afraid and alone. It was a relief to know that there’s a huge, like-minded tribe out there. And once I met them, I found that belonging.

Remember that regardless of how we feel, we are meant to be there. Whether we want to trick our minds and pretend you’re wearing an invisible cloth, or get a camera and make people think you’re a photographer like I do, you need to walk out first to grasp the beauty of the world. Sounds like a cliché, but why not make yourself a little courageous and see how the world reacts to your braveness?

After all, the imaginary conversations inside your head are mostly false alerts, and they’re the ones that are trying to prevent you from forging ahead.

I’m still shy and introverted, but now I know how to tame that monkey mind, the inner critic that’s blocking the life you want. Not because I learned the monkey tricks, but because of what my Canon has taught me.

“There will be times when standing alone feels too hard, too scary, and we’ll doubt our ability to make our way through the uncertainty. Someone, somewhere, will say, “Don’t do it. You don’t have what it takes to survive the wilderness.” This is when you reach deep into your wild heart and remind yourself, “I am the wilderness.” – Brene Brown, Braving the Wilderness.