37 FramesBefore the Safari, There Was the Beautiful Chaos of Being Human
There is a myth that people who live their lives in airports and hotel suites have packing down to an art. That we calmly roll shirts into cubes and never forget things like adapters or sleep masks. That myth, we can confirm, is a lie. Or at least, an Instagram version of a truth that includes a lot more yelling, a few misplaced SD cards, and an actual spreadsheet titled: “Checklist to End All Checklists.” (That has now somehow spawned three sub-spreadsheets and a backup document.)
As we sat writing this, the safari gear arrived in real-time. The 600mm lens has just been unboxed. There are new wide-brimmed hats (although Dee said mine looks like a fisherman’s hat. ??) and half the contents of a chemist on the bed. We’re about to leave for a multi-week adventure across Namibia, but first — we had to go home.
And by home, we mean Australia… and in particular, Yamba. A soul place. The anchoring one. The “we can finally stop for a second” spot.
Yamba: The Philosophy of Returning Before Departing
There’s something about going home before going away.
We had months of albums and visuals to deliver and future couples to plan with (and had the week leading up to leaving as a 168-hour no-sleep work marathon) before even thinking about packing. There were final albums to box up and post, timelines to review, films to finalize, and non-stop planning zooms across timezones. But it was important that we couldn’t start this trip without a stop in Yamba. It’s where we hug our people and collapse into the kind of love that doesn’t ask for updates.
In Yamba, no one minds if we show up half-dead and zombie-eyed. The exhaustion doesn’t need explanation. Everyone knows the season we’ve had — and they still pour the wine and pass the fish and chips.
Sometimes the most healing thing isn’t sleep. It’s being seen by the people who know you best.
This is the gift of true home. The place where you can arrive completely depleted and be restored not through what you do, but simply through who you are when you’re there.
Refilling the Tank — Quietly
We didn’t come to Yamba to rest for these two days, exactly. (And anyone who’s seen an Elkie Taylor list of things to do and games to play knows this to be true.) We came to be restored.
And that is a significant difference.
There’s a particular quality of belonging that only exists in places where your feet know the tide patterns before your brain catches up, where the rhythm of waves has been the soundtrack to some of your most important conversations, where the light at sunset carries the weight of a thousand shared moments.
Somewhere between the second round of fish and chips and the last-minute packing chaos… we remembered how good it feels to just be.
The sunsets were something else. Like the sky was putting on a show just for us, every evening a curtain call. We wandered down for pelican feedings, marvelled like kids, and then became them again during singalongs that got slightly more unhinged with each chorus. The BBQ was fired up. And yes—more fish and chips. Always more fish and chips. And a rainbow.
Elkie caught the most fish. And the biggest. Naturally. We applauded. Naturally.
Laughed with siblings until our stomachs ached. Watched Mum and Dad, just watched them, and felt the tug of time. We know how rare this is. How precious. We won the parent lottery. That’s not even a humblebrag. That’s a full-blown thank-you-universe moment.
And now, with hearts full and tanks somewhat refilled, we get to do it again soon… with Dee’s family, to celebrate a milestone birthday. More stories. More hugs. More time. The kind that matters. Coming soon…
There were beach walks. (Rainy ones). There was fishing. (We caught nothing, naturally.) There was dinner around the table, with stories we’ve all heard before but laugh at anyway. (And some we’d never head before!!) There was something sacred in the normality. No one asked what gear we packed. No one asked how many hours we were flying. They just let us be.
This is what refilling looks like. Not the absence of activity, but the presence of belonging.
From Australia to Africa: The Necessity of Emptying Before Filling
We need this trip. We need the space, the nothingness, the wildness of the Namib to breathe us back to ourselves. But more than that… our clients need us to take this trip.
Because we don’t just plan weddings. We hold stories. We hold space. We feel deeply. And to do that work well, our own wells have to be full. Ours is an emotional job. One where we feel deeply, witness intimately, and carry the emotional weight of many.
Taking a vacation. Everyone does it. But for some reason, wedding pros feel guilty about taking a few weeks off. Although, all our clients understand. They’re totally the best. And we have Sumika and the team holding down the fort for a a couple of weeks. And we love them for it.
This is what it takes to stay human in an industry built on emotion and presence. And mostly, to maintain the capacity for wonder that makes our work meaningful rather than mechanical.
To Our Clients, Past and Present
You are why we do this.
You’re the reason we push through the 24-hour work marathons, the reason we care so deeply about timelines, light, and how light will fall across your face during the vows. The reason we lose sleep over vendor logistics and weather contingencies
Your trust in us… to document your love, to coordinate your celebration, to hold space for your most important day… is both a privilege and a responsibility that we carry with us everywhere we go.
This break, is for all of us. Even our team, who deserve a pause from (us!) and our relentless energy, the endless striving, our constant nudge for them to keep aiming higher.
All of us can return even more grounded, more inspired, more ourselves. Ready to take on the end of year season with passion. So we can bring fresh eyes to your stories, renewed energy to your celebration, and the kind of presence that only comes from people who have remembered what it feels like to be fully alive.
The best work we do doesn’t emerge from exhaustion or efficiency. It comes from being deeply connected to the world.
The Great Packening (Part 387)
A study in controlled chaos. If you’re imagining a glamorous send-off involving perfectly organized luggage and serene departure rituals, we invite you to witness the reality of two destination wedding pros (who spend their life packing… for work admittedly) attempting to pack for a multi-week African adventure. Some scenes:
- One of us wondering aloud if hiking boots can be worn with everything.
- The other printing 14 versions of the itinerary, just in case.
- A debate about bringing a backup camera body for the backup camera body.
- Frantic texts from me about how many pairs of cargo pants are too many.
- And from Dee wondering if a vintage leaopard-print jumpsuit would be too much.
- Actual discussions about drone propeller storage strategies. that would make NASA engineers proud and normal people concerned for our mental health.
- A surprisingly heated debate about luggage weight restrictions with diagrams, re-enactments and AI queries across multiple platforms that crossed the line from “prepared” into “pathological.”
If you’re expecting Instagram-worthy packing aesthetics, please adjust your expectations to include more duct tape and significantly less color coordination.
And Now, We Fly
From Yamba’s quiet to Johannesburg’s bustle, we’re heading into the next chapter. Namibia awaits.
We don’t know what we’ll find in the desert just yet. But we know what we’re bringing with us:
- The feeling of salt on our skin from those beach walks.
- The sound of family laughing when we couldn’t keep our eyes open at dinner.
- The grounding knowledge that no matter where we go, or what we do … home is always waiting.
We understand that belonging isn’t about geography but about the people who see you clearly and love you anyway.
The Space Between Here and There
Tomorrow we fly into the unknown, carrying cameras and curiosity, comfortable shoes and open hearts. We leave behind the familiar rhythms of Yamba for the ancient silence of the Namib, trading family dinners for sundowner conversations and known horizons for landscapes that stretch beyond imagination.
But we don’t leave empty-handed. We carry the strength that comes from being fully seen and unconditionally loved. And parental hugs. And sibling arguments that never change—but always end with wine and over the top pranks that make us laugh until our parents send us to our rooms. What gifts these moments are.
We’ll see you on the other side of the dunes. With sand in our bags and hearts full,
Tracey & Dee | 37 Frames
37 Frames
