Back in 2020, I bought my first full-frame camera, the newly launched Sony a7C. I vividly remember the excitement of waiting for it to ship and the thrill when it finally arrived. Having only captured photos with my iPhone SE 1st generation since 2017, this camera was the most advanced gear I had ever owned, and I had no clue how to use it. This initial struggle to master its settings would later become a powerful parallel to my journey into Manual Mode Living. I spent many nights on watching tutorials, trying to understand the new functions: ISO, shutter speed, white balance, and aperture. The buttons, dials, and menus were completely foreign to me. The iPhone SE on the other hand, was so simple to use in a palm of a hand.
Like most beginners who just started, I shot with Automatic mode (auto). The camera do all for me, everything; all I had to do was point and shoot. It was simpler to use, less complex, and the photos looked “just as they should be.” I did not have to think, letting the camera do the work. I even wondered about the point of other functions. Did I really need to learn them all? It seemed a waste to buy such a camera if I did not. It amazed me how other creators are able to produce such cinematic quality.
After six months, I had nearly filled my 128GB Lexar memory card with thousands of photos and video clips. When I finally transferred them to my MacBook and viewed them on a bigger screen, something clicked. The shots were… okay. But many looked the same. Some were blurry like ghost effects, some focused on the wrong thing (wrong focus point without checking before shot), and others felt flat, lacking depth. I realised I was merely capturing moments, not creating anything meaningful. I was letting the camera decide everything for me. Looking back, I had not reviewed what I had captured, which made me believe the camera was creating for me, and that was what I wanted. I was not in control, not telling a story, not deciding what to focus on or how I wanted the light to feel. Sometimes ‘overly focused’ made me lost track on what’s happening around. This camera had so much potential, yet I was not using it fully. Knowing I could do more, and curious to try new things, I had to learn other modes. It took time to gather the courage to switch to Manual mode. I still use my iPhone sometimes especially when I urgently need to capture on the go.
The Settings? You Decide
Each time I adjusted a setting, a shift from F1.4 to F1.6, or a slightest tweak in shutter speed or ISO, I saw how it changed the outcome. The light fell differently. Shadows deepened. Details shifted in and out of focus. It took me quite sometime to adjust and preview, or sometimes a few shots to see the outcome. It powerfully reminded me how much perception shapes reality.
Whenever I felt stuck or overwhelmed, I started asking myself:
What if I try this from another angle? Forces me to walk and point.
What if I softened the focus? I always like the bokeh look, to see a ‘bigger’ picture.
What happens if I adjust the light? A slight change can bring out details.
Sometimes, the situation did not need to change, just my perspective.
Manual mode forced me to slow down. To pause to adjust and pay attention. To experiment. I had to make decisions: How do I want this shot to feel? What is the mood? What matters most in this frame? It was no longer point-and-shoot. It was a pause and consider. It became a practice of presence, intention, and creation. Then I realised this was not just about photography or videography.
Auto Mode Isn’t Just in Cameras
Most of us live in Auto Mode without realising it. We react quickly to background noise like phone notifications, unimportant messages, or things that do not truly matter or require our attention. We wake up and immediately check our phones, scrolling through social media or reading emails before even leaving bed. We say yes by default, to rushing, to reacting. We spend through our days without checking in with ourselves, often getting too tired before the day ends.
I started to question that.
Instead of rushing my mornings, I slowed them down. That set the mood of the day. Just like adjusting my shutter speed, I allowed my mornings to be soft and slow, not panic-filled, gradually gaining focus when I was on the road and working. I learned to ignore background noise, choosing what to tune into. I learned to adjust my boundaries and my aperture. I chose what to let in and what to keep out. I gave myself space to frame each moment before reacting. Now, more work gets done without overload or delay. Not everything deserved a sharp focus; some things deserved to blur.
I have learned by doing these, solid work can be accomplished.
At the end of each day, I reflect:
What was I rushing through?
Does it matter?
There’s no perfect setting in Manual Mode, but the point is, you are aware.
Get Out of Your Comfort Zone & Permission to Experiment
Switching to Manual Mode was not easy task. I messed up the exposure many times: too dark, too bright, too blurry. But those mistakes were mine. They taught me to be curious and patient.
That curiosity spilt into the rest of my life. I started to explore what else I was avoiding because it felt uncomfortable, just like when I started walking.
Saying no to what drains me. More mini rest to fuel what is important.
Trying something fun, like writing or chess, reminds me to stay curious, to accept my mistakes as they are, to keep on trying.
Being more patient, especially on the road. Not to react and let it go. Peace and safety is more important.
Not just hearing but listening slowly to others during conversations. Not waiting to reply and interrupt. Sometimes people just want to tell me their stories or concerns.
Not to judge or react too quickly. Not everything requires instant action. To minimise wrong assumptions, conflicts and misunderstandings.
Trying new routines. New walking pathways. New perspectives.
Redefining how I spend weekends. Spend time with family, or sometimes just do nothing at all. Read my favourite book. Watching a few episodes of dramas.
What else did I want to focus on besides work? What had been waiting for my attention?
I noticed my triggers, comparison, urgency, and criticism, and began experimenting with how I respond. I walked more. I paused before reacting. I created space between stimulus and response. Because that is what Manual Mode living is about: you decide what matters.
Aperture: A Lesson in Boundaries
In photography, the aperture controls how much light gets in. A wide aperture lets in more light, but also creates a shallow depth of field, meaning more of the background blurs, which can introduce ‘noise’ or distraction if not carefully controlled. A narrow aperture brings more of the scene into sharp focus, but requires more intention to achieve proper exposure.
In life, aperture is about boundaries. I used to let everything in: every opinion, every notification, every obligation. I was overwhelmed. Overexposed.
Manual Mode living taught me to adjust my aperture. To blur the noise. To create focus and depth where it matters. Not everything deserves equal access to my attention. Not everyone gets a front-row seat to my inner world.
Some things are meant to fade into the background. Not everything is worth my energy. Sometimes, a ‘No’ is really a ‘Yes’ to deeper work, clearer focus, and the things that fuel and sustain me.
ISO: How Sensitive Are You to the Noise?
I used to live at high ISO, constantly reacting, easily triggered, and overwhelmed by noise. I would compare myself to others, chase perfection, and scroll endlessly to numb discomfort.
Lowering my ISO meant turning off notifications, muting distractions, and embracing discomfort instead of avoiding it. Life got quieter. But it also got clearer. My emotions felt less grainy. I could finally see what was actually in front of me. Staying in silence, giving myself some space, let me have the time to notice what is important.
Adjusting the Emotional Temperature
I recoloured my days with rest, gentle reflection, and resistance to urgency. Nothing to edit, nothing to prove, no goals.
The scene did not need to change. I just needed to adjust how I was seeing it. There is no need constant of filling the void. Some days could be black, some days could be bright. To be grateful every day. Like switching to manual mode, walking gives me more control over my thoughts before I write. In How Walking Inspires My Journaling Practice, I explore this gentle transition.
It’s Not About Perfection—It’s About Presence
Yes, I still misjudge sometimes: I still make mistakes. I take on too much. I focus on the wrong things. I forget to check the settings. But those “mistakes” become lessons, not failure. Not to be too harsh on myself for all these that cannot be undone.
Manual Mode requires intention, but it gives you authorship. It lets you decide:
Tonight, you may want to ask yourself:
What “setting” in my life feels off? A reminder for you to keep on track.
Am I moving too fast or too slow? Are you missing anything? Or rushing to external pressures? What’s holding you back? Fear? Comfort? Doubt?
What deserves my focus? Reduce / identify your to do list/priorities.
What boundaries need adjusting? Is your Yes a real Yes ? You do not need to feel guilty for saying No.
Then tomorrow, adjust just one thing. Aim for presence. Manual Mode is not about flawless results. It is about feeling your way through the light, the blur, the chaos, and making it yours. It is not perfect and requires further tuning whenever needed along the way.
You Won’t Fall Behind
I used to think if I slowed down, I would fall behind. But I did not. I finally caught up with myself.
There are seasons when I let in everything, every voice, every pressure. It left me scattered and tired. Now, I adjust. I do not need to keep up with everything. I can choose quiet over noise, and intimacy over information overload. Let some things blur. Not everything needs to be in perfect focus. Manual Mode means noticing that, not judging it, but adjusting. Sometimes I need to log off, or just sit on the floor, no plan and do nothing.
You do not need to live your whole life in manual mode. Just try it for a day. I wrote another post about creative control and intentional focus, you might enjoy reading Depth of Field on the Board : Why Every Piece Has Its Place’ .
And that reminded me of chess. At the beginning of the game, every pawn looks small, predictable, and limited. But in the right hands, with patience and strategic movement, every pawn is a potential queen.
You do not need to be flashy or fast to be powerful. You just need to keep moving with awareness.
Every quiet, intentional choice brings you closer to becoming who you are meant to be.
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