When academic burnout disrupted my plans to become a physical therapist, I discovered how sports photography can transform athletic moments into lasting stories — and why there’s no single path to creative work.
By Vivienne Paulson
Two semesters of anatomy stood between me and applications to physical therapy school. As a kinesiology major at the University of Minnesota, my life seemed to follow a clear path toward a stable 9-to-5. I worked late nights at a four bedroom nursing home in Brooklyn Park, often returning to campus exhausted with no time left to study for midterms or cook a real dinner.
I was already burned out by a future I hadn’t even reached. Deep inside, I knew it wasn’t working.
When Fall 2023 grades were released, I landed on academic probation with a 1.8 GPA. I avoided telling my parents until winter break forced the conversation. My mom begged to know why I hadn’t shared how much I was struggling. My dad focused on the grades. Eventually, we realized the problem wasn’t just my performance in school.
It was the path itself.
Many students enter college believing careers follow a predictable sequence: declare a major, graduate and find a job. In reality, finding the right path is rarely linear. Meaningful work often requires experimentation, setbacks and the willingness to change direction. About 80% of undergraduate students change their majors, a step that can ultimately increase a student’s likelihood of graduating.
Long before I studied kinesiology, I had convinced myself I wasn’t creative. Both of my parents work at a creative advertising agency, and as a child, I wandered through their offices watching designers build magazine layouts and campaigns. I admired the work, but it felt like a world meant for other people.
Still, creativity quietly remained in the background of my life. At 14, I saved enough money to buy my first DSLR camera at the National Camera Exchange. I photographed friends, documented family trips and edited video montages. Photography was a hobby, something I enjoyed without imagining it as a career.
Physical therapy felt safer. Gymnastics had shaped my life for 13 years, and after tearing my ACL in high school, I spent nine months in physical therapy. I admired how therapists combined science and empathy to help athletes recover.
But during those months away from competition, I noticed something else. While athletes fought to return to the sport, someone was always documenting the moment. The routines disappeared from memory, but the photographs remained.
I began speaking with local photographers about how they built their careers. Their stories were anything but identical.
One multidisciplinary photographer and director, Colleen Guenther, helped me see that changing direction was normal. Guenther had switched her college major nearly five different times before finding her path in visual storytelling. It was reassuring to meet someone with a successful creative career who had felt my same uncertainty. Her experience showed that exploration is often part of the process, and her encouragement gave me the confidence to make the leap and pursue journalism.
Carlos Gonzalez, who has spent more than two decades photographing Minnesota for the Star Tribune, showed me a more traditional path. Gonzalez grew up in California and studied journalism with a minor in photojournalism at San José State University. His interest in photography began in a beginner’s class taught by former photojournalists.Today, his evening shifts often place him at breaking news scenes or sporting events. The unpredictability is what he enjoys most.
“You never know what you’ll photograph on a given day,” he explained.
Hearing stories like theirs have helped me understand that photography doesn’t have a single entry point. Some photographers follow clear journalism paths, while others arrive through unexpected turns.
My journey has come through the lens of my life experiences. The first time I photographed a University of Minnesota gymnastics meet, I realized how far I had come.
The sport looked different through my viewfinder from how it had when I used to watch the meets from the stands or compete myself. I wasn’t evaluating technique anymore. I was searching for emotion. Chalk suspended in arena lights, the split second before a gymnast catched a release move, teammates celebrating after a routine.
For the first time, I understood athletics not just as performance, but as storytelling. Photography didn’t pull me away from sports. It brought me closer.
Changing majors felt less like abandoning a dream and more like recognizing one that had been there all along. The certainty I once chased in physical therapy had covered a deeper uncertainty about who I wanted to become.