Birthdays have always fascinated me.
When we’re young, we can’t wait for time to pass. We’re eager to grow up and dive into the world of adulthood. We dream of successful careers, shiny cars, beautiful homes, exotic holidays and maybe even a taste of fame.
But somewhere along the way, everything shifts.
You reach a certain age and suddenly wish time would slow down. You realise often quietly and profoundly that time is one of the most precious things we have. And wishing it away is one of the most foolish things we can do.
From Wanting More to Wanting Meaning
In my mind, I imagine I have 40 years of life left, though realistically, maybe 38. Either way, now that I’ve danced the material dance and ticked off many of those worldly boxes, what I crave most is the act of creating.
In the times we are living in where reality is increasingly blurred with AI and digital clouds, I feel a need to get back to creating with my hands, with my heart, in the real world.
The Sacredness of Life
This birthday has stirred something deeper; a reminder of just how sacred life is.
Increasingly nowadays, people seem consumed by the negative, the toxic, the material. We’ve lost touch with who we are as humans, and our connection to nature. We’ve been led to believe that to be happy, we need to consume or chase the next big thing.
But this is also the stage of life where we start to lose people dear to us. And with that comes a sharper awareness that life cannot exist without death.
My Father’s Story: A Century of Change
My father was born in 1916 in a small Karoo town called De Rust. He saw the first cars drive those dusty roads and watched the first plane land on the nearby golf course.
He lived through two world wars. His mother, my grandmother, died from the Spanish Flu in 1921. His father, my grandfather, died from a wound originally sustained in the Boer War a few years before. In 1929, my father lived through the Great Depression that shattered financial markets.
Yet, across his almost 90 years of life, he also saw a man walk on the moon. He witnessed the invention of the cellphone, the internet, and a shrinking world through travel. During one of his journeys, he met my mother in France. They married in her village, Guijuelo, in the province of Salamanca, Spain.
Later, they settled in Zambia, then Northern Rhodesia, where my brother and I were born. My father’s life was a tapestry of real, tangible experiences – not data, not algorithms.
What We Often Overlook
I’ve never understood people who wish their lives away, complaining of boredom or longing for more money “to do nice things”.
We need to return to nature and to ourselves. We need to rediscover the joy of the small and the ordinary. Not everything must give you a high. Sometimes, the simplest things – light on leaves, a breeze through a window, a loved one’s smile – are enough.
We live in a society of emotional extremes; highs and lows. And yet we rarely sit in the gentle, quiet middle. The place where peace of mind lives.
A Life Behind the Lens
Most of my adult life has been spent photographing people documenting their special celebrations, their quiet moments, even their tragedies.
Each image has taught me something about life, about people and about how to see.
And through all those stories and faces, I’ve learned to apply the positive to my own life and, as far as I can, leave the negative behind.
Looking Ahead
If I reflect on what can be done in 10 years, I’m inspired to keep creating and to keep pushing. But life sometimes has its own plans.
If my creative spirit stays intact for another 20 years, I’ll keep fighting the perception that older people have little left to offer.
My father once said:
“Life is like a stock exchange. One morning you’re on a high, and the next the value of your mental shares drops. But life is a long-term investment. Unless you let corrupt brokers do your dealing, you’ll be a billionaire once your course is run.”
Family, Memory and Creation
A few years ago, I created a series called Family Portraits to celebrate the joy and grounding I find in the people closest to me. In each image, I tried to capture their essence of what makes them uniquely themselves.
These portraits weren’t just about photography. They were about belonging, gratitude and love.Here’s to the next decade — with clear eyes, an open heart and a camera always at hand.
