Seasons, Not Balance
People keep asking how I balance it all — the companies, the family, the gym, the cameras. The truth? Balance doesn’t exist.
In the field, balance looks like a tripod set neat and level, horizon straight, and nothing happening.
Nature doesn’t care about symmetry. A leopard climbs at dusk, a lioness charges through reeds, the light rips the savanna open for three minutes and then it’s gone. One thing spikes, everything else flatlines. That’s the rhythm.
When I’m in Zimanga with the camera and a lioness steps out of cover, my inbox is bleeding out. When I’m grinding out squats to keep my back strong enough for the Sigma 300–600 f/4, I’m not at the dinner table. Some parts of life flare, others dim. That’s how it goes.
Seasons Over Balance
The bush teaches this better than any self-help book. Dry season: bodies thin, movements long and deliberate. Rains come: abundance, fat, energy everywhere.
Life follows the same curve. Some months my images peak, my body dips. Other months I train hard and barely touch the shutter. Both are part of the cycle. Balance isn’t the point. Seasons are.
In Mana Pools I loaded myself like a mule — Canon R1 with the RF 100–300mm f/2.8, a second body with the Fuji and GF 500mm, a 70–200 stuffed in the bag, tripod, and all the other “good to have” items that somehow always sneak along. There’s a lot of walking there, tracking lions, standing elephants, and whatever else the floodplain decides to show. By evening I cursed myself for carrying that much. But it was a season of excess, of obsession, and out of it came frames I’ll never sell because they’re mine — elephants moving through dust-blue twilight, lions sliding between mopane trunks. Months later came a season of recovery: gym sessions, diet, barely any travel. My body grew back. The work ebbs and flows, just like the rivers.
And right now, I’m in a different season altogether. No trips until late January. Five months with no lions, no eagles, no dust. Days filled with business work, mornings in the gym, and family time. Movies in between. Lightroom edits from trips I’ve let rest until memory fades — I don’t want to be seduced by the moment of capture. The rush of the lion charging, or the sting of Arctic wind, can trick me into thinking a frame is stronger than it is. Time strips away the memory and leaves only the photograph. That’s when I can see if it holds.
Living With Asymmetry
There’s guilt baked into modern life — the sense that if one thing grows, another must shrink. It’s true, but it isn’t tragedy. When you’re in the bush, family time contracts. When you’re in the gym, business ticks slower. Call it imbalance if you want. I just see it as movement. The herd shifts. Predators adjust. The ground changes.
So I stopped chasing balance. The tripod doesn’t need to stand level. The frame doesn’t need to be centered. What matters is being present in whichever season is in front of you.