Well, I don't know if it was precisely this moment, but this waterfall was a turning point, during my first visit to Iceland in 2006.
You might want to know the name of this waterfall. That would be perfectly sensible, for most of us, this is a pretty incredible five-tier (six? seven? whatever) waterfall on black rock. What's not to love? The thing is, this waterfall probably doesn't have a name. It wasn't on the map. There wasn't a parking lot for this waterfall. There wasn't a turnout for it. There was enough of a shoulder on the road to pull over onto the grass, but there was little indication that nearly anyone bothered to do that. The grass field below the bottom edge of the photograph was being used to graze sheep. It was not because Icelanders were entirely immune to beauty, but simply the fact that around the next corner there'd be another waterfall just as pretty, or even more so. And the next. And the next.
That sort of relentless assault of awesome is hard to ignore, and I didn't, instead, over the next few years, turned the feelings that I had from that experience into my Iceland portfolio. And this image didn't make it into the portfolio, because ... well, for the same reason that this waterfall doesn't have a name.