The $4,200 Lesson

It’s been an emotionally violent year.
Not violent in the sense of fists and blood — but in the way life throws you into situations that shake your faith in yourself, your direction, your future.

$4,200 is just a number to most people.
To me, it’s the cost of betting on myself.

Back in March 2024, I sold every bit of cryptocurrency I had and bought a Canon R8 with the 24–50mm kit lens. A week later, I picked up the RF 35mm, my base lens. Before that, I was shooting video on an iPhone — and I knew I could do better. I knew I had to do better.

It wasn’t just about the image quality. It was about not showing up to a client job and feeling like I was delivering less than my best. About taking my own dreams seriously enough to invest in them, even when it felt reckless.

That decision wasn’t made in peace.
At the time, I was working construction for my brother, who was also my boss. We got into it — almost physically — over feeling like I was being cheated. I was ready to transition into creative work for small businesses full-time, but I felt stuck. Between family tension, money arguments with my girlfriend (who thought the camera wasn’t the right purchase at the moment), and my own doubt, it felt like I was building a plane mid-flight while people told me to land.

But I bought it anyway.
And then I kept building — tripods, Aputure MC RGB lights, a RODE shotgun mic, SmallRig attachments. Piece by piece, from March 2024 to August 2025, I spent $4,200 creating the foundation for Work By Davey’s visual content.

The thing about creative work is that you never know exactly what you’ll need until you’re in it. One day you’re shooting street photography, the next you’re filming an event in low light, the next you’re designing graphics for a local business. Every situation asks for different tools, and you want to be able to say, “Yeah, I’ve got that covered” without faking it.

That’s what the $4,200 really bought me — not perfection, not every lens, not the ability to cover every possible shoot. It bought me enough. Enough to start. Enough to feel like I could walk into a room, shake a hand, and know I had the tools to deliver.

I still deal with imposter syndrome.
I still look at the lenses I want — the RF 85mm, the Zhiyun Weebil 3S, the RF 15–30mm — and think about how far I am from the “complete” setup in my head. But here’s the lesson:

You don’t need every piece of gear to be good enough.
You just need enough to start swimming.

Because once you’re in the water, you’ll figure the rest out.