Messi Made Me Write Again
What photography and Lionel Messi taught me about humility, purpose, and trusting the process
It’s been a long time since I last wrote. Life gets busy. You tell yourself you’ll write tomorrow, and then tomorrow quietly becomes months. But then I watched Lionel Messi again. And somehow, he made me want to write.
The older I get, the less interested I become in celebrating achievements alone. Whether it’s photography, football, or any other profession, I’ve started believing that success is rarely found in the final result. It lives in something much quieter.
It lives in the journey.
I’ve always believed that the joy of photography isn’t determined by where your photographs are published or how many people praise them. It’s not even about creating the “perfect” image. It’s about who you become while making it.
It’s about waking up before sunrise because you believe there might be a story waiting for you. It’s about getting lost in unfamiliar streets. It’s about the conversations you never expected to have. It’s about the patience to wait for light, the mistakes that teach you something new, and the moments that no one else will ever know happened behind the camera. Most importantly, it’s about people.
Before connecting with your subject, you have to help them reconnect with themselves. Only then can you truly photograph them. The camera simply records what trust allows you to see. I’ve realized this lesson doesn’t belong only to photography. It belongs everywhere.
Take Lionel Messi.
To many, he’s the greatest footballer of all time. An extraordinary dribbler. A prolific goalscorer. An exceptional passer. A player who has redefined what seems possible on a football pitch. But that’s not why he moves me.
Every time I watch Messi play, I find myself emotional. Sometimes I genuinely get goosebumps. It isn’t because he scores another impossible goal or threads another impossible pass. It’s because of how he does it.
He plays with joy. He plays with humility. He plays as if football is still something to be grateful for.
His teammates don’t admire him only because he’s brilliant. They trust him because he trusts them. He asks for the ball, but he’s just as willing to give it away if someone else is in a better position. He celebrates teammates’ goals as much as his own. He understands that even the greatest player cannot win alone.
That’s leadership. Not demanding attention. Earning belief.
Messi’s career reminds me that greatness isn’t built by pretending you don’t need others. It’s built by recognizing exactly how much you do. Before lifting the World Cup, he experienced heartbreak. He lost finals. He faced criticism. People questioned whether he would ever complete his story. Yet he kept playing. Not louder. Not angrier. Just better.
There is something deeply inspiring about someone who continues believing in the process even when the ending hasn’t arrived yet.
Eventually, it did.
When Argentina finally won the World Cup, it felt like more than a sporting achievement. It felt like patience being rewarded. Like resilience finally meeting its moment. That story says something bigger than football.
Dream big. Believe deeply. Keep showing up. Trust the work. Enjoy the journey even when the destination feels impossibly far away.
As photographers, I think we sometimes fall into a trap. We stand on stages and spend too much time talking about ourselves—our awards, our publications, our accomplishments. Ironically, the more we make photography about ourselves, the smaller the photographs become. The image should always be bigger than the photographer. The story should always matter more than the storyteller.
Humility doesn’t reduce greatness. It protects it. Maybe that’s why Messi continues to inspire millions. Even after everything he has won, he rarely speaks as if the story is only about him. His football does the talking. His character finishes the sentence. That, to me, is what excellence looks like.
Not perfection. Not fame. Not trophies.
But a mindset that respects the process as much as the outcome. Photography taught me that. Messi reminded me. And perhaps that’s why, after such a long time away from writing, I’m here again. Because every now and then, someone reminds you that the journey is still worth believing in.
Loved this, resonates!
Really well stated thanks Hawre.