When I See This Bar(n)

By Sean Stacey

I’m often asked what led me to becoming a professional photographer — and even more, why I chose to focus on horses and the people who love them. The truth is, my life has been a patchwork of changes, triumphs, and trials — the kind of story where every chapter feels like a song lyric waiting to be written. And for me, there is a song that captures it perfectly: “When I See This Bar” by Keith Gattis and Kenny Chesney.

I’ve been a member of Kenny’s “No Shoes Nation” for years. His music has a way of sneaking into your soul — reminding you who you are, who you were, and who you’re still becoming. The song tells the story of someone looking back at the place that shaped them — a bar that holds memories, laughter, heartbreak, and all the faces that built their story.

What struck me most was how the bar in the song becomes a symbol for the places in life that define us. For me, that place isn’t a bar at all...It’s a barn.

“Pieces of our past slowly slip away,

But time just stands still when I walk in this place.”

Those lines hit me harder every year I spend behind the lens.

I spent two decades at BNSF Railway — a stable, predictable career. On paper, it was a good life. But somewhere inside, I knew I was living in grayscale. When I left, I wasn’t sure what came next. I just knew I needed something more real.

That search led me to the Virgin Islands, a place I had fallen in love with years before — the same sun-washed backdrop where the When I See This Bar music video was filmed. I worked, wandered, and slowly rediscovered the creative side of myself I’d buried under spreadsheets and conference calls. It’s impossible not to feel alive in the islands — the salt air, the rhythm of the waves, the way strangers turn into family.

It was there that I started seeing the world differently through a camera. Not just snapshots, but stories. Not just people, but emotion.

“And I see a kid coming into his own,

And a man learning to move on,

Somehow trying to find his way…”

Those lines might as well have been written about me. I was that man — still chasing the sun, still following his heart. My life didn’t have a map anymore, but it finally had meaning. Photography became my new compass.

When I see a rider stepping into the ring, or a teen leaning against their horse after a long day of showing, I see that same look — a kid coming into their own, a man or woman learning to move on. That quiet, unspoken mix of pride, fear, and freedom that reminds me what it means to "bet on blind faith."

“Some are still living the dream,

Stuck in still life, it seems.”

I think about that line every time I return to the barns — the same smell of hay, the sound of laughter and hoofbeats echoing through the air. The faces may change, but the feeling never does. Like that bar in the song, every barn tells a thousand stories. Some riders are chasing blue ribbons. Some are chasing redemption. Some are just trying to hold onto a dream a little longer.  And me? I’m chasing light — that fleeting, perfect glow that tells the truth of the moment.

“I wonder where I’ll go from here…

That’s what I see when I see this bar.”

When I see this barn, I see my journey reflected right back at me. I see how far I’ve come — from corporate cubicles to camera bags, from spreadsheets to sunsets, from wondering “what if” to saying “why not.”

Life isn’t over — but like the song says, it’s always near. Every click of the shutter feels like both a beginning and a goodbye. I think about all the good times, all the people who’ve walked beside me, and how every frame I capture carries a piece of that story forward.

The song ends on a bittersweet note:

“Makes me happy and it makes me sad.”

That’s exactly how I feel when I walk into a barn with my camera.

It’s where I’ve found community, competition, and love — the same forces that have always driven me. The difference now is, I get to see it every day. Through my lens, I watch others write their own stories of courage, joy, and connection.

And that’s what I see, when I see this bar(n).