37 FramesStillness as a Skill | And Why It’s So Hard to Do “Nothing”
Because sometimes doing nothing is exactly the work. Especially when you’re wired to do it all.
📍Still at Sossus Dune Lodge
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Morning: The Glorious, Guilt-Free Pause
Let’s start with the facts. We did not climb a dune today. We did not hike at dawn. There were no adrenaline rushes, no timelines, no rush to get anywhere.
And it felt… amazing. (Also: a little disorienting.)
When you’re used to being in motion … to planning, photographing, coordinating, creating … choosing stillness can feel unnatural. Almost rebellious.
But we’ve realized: that’s when you probably need it most.
So today we practiced the underrated, often-overlooked art of doing nothing. Spoiler: It’s harder than it sounds.
But it’s also where the magic seeps in.
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A Morning of Sand, Silence, and Mr. Hendricks
The East Wind wailed all night.
Not whispered. Not rustled. Wailed. Like the desert had something ancient to say and wasn’t afraid to shout it through the floorboards.
We woke to sand covering us. In our ears. In the bed. On the windowsills. It had come in through every crevice – under the door, between the planks, through the tiniest cracks in the walls. Not maliciously. Just… insistently. Like it had been invited.
Outside? Ethereal. Pink skies and soft hazy light. A scene out of a dream. If the dream also came with gale-force winds and a faint sense that your eyelashes were exfoliating.
So we did what any seasoned travellers would do in the name of wellness and self-preservation.
We went back to sleep.
Just for a little bit.
Which, naturally, turned into a lot.
Eventually, we rallied. Braved the storm. Pushed against the wind. It was wild out there. And oddly exhilarating. But also: painful. And slightly ridiculous.
The lodge staff greeted us with knowing smiles and one gentle suggestion: “Before you head out, maybe visit our local mechanic down the road. Just to make sure the car’s okay after yesterday’s adventure. Ask for Mr. Hendricks.”
So off we went. Three kilometers down the sandblasted road to the little car oasis that is Mr. Hendricks’ place.
The wind howled. Mr. Hendricks did not.
He was all nods and gentle smiles. A kind of silent wisdom that made you feel calmer just being near it. While he gave our vehicle a once-over, we sat nearby – and unexpectedly, found connection once again.
Two fellow German travellers. Photographers. Adventurers. Wind survivors. We compared notes. Laughed over lenses. They showed us video of Deadvlei that morning… just dust and chaos, the desert turned ghostly.
We felt a pang of regret. That we’d missed the drama. The cinematic weather. The iconic storm-swept shots.
And then… we didn’t.
Because what we had was just as valuable. A morning of stillness. Of surrender. Of saying: not today, sand. Not today.
Sometimes the desert speaks. Sometimes it roars.
And sometimes, if you’re lucky, it gives you permission to rest.
The Afternoon Drift: Book, Nap, Repeat
Back at the lodge, we didn’t do. We existed.
There was something indulgent … and oddly brave … about not filling every moment. We’re so used to being productive. To turning experience into output. But today we just… let it be.
And we remembered that rest isn’t a reward. It’s a requirement.
A Few Things We Learned While Doing “Nothing”
- Your nervous system has a memory. It remembers stress. It also remembers stillness … if you give it time.
- You don’t have to earn rest. There’s no productivity quota that unlocks a nap.
- The world doesn’t fall apart when you pause. In fact, it gets a little clearer.
- Some days aren’t for creating stories. They’re for taking time to absorb them.
- We’re better when we’re not tired. Not just for each other. But for everyone we serve … our couples, our clients, our families.
Evening Light & Long Shadows
Did the drive back into Sossuvlei for golden hour. Long shadows. Heavenly light. Will never forget this sight. Love desert abstracts. Love the dunes. The best light and shadow play ever.
Then, dinner was slow tonight.
There was grilled game meat, soft conversation, laughter with the lodge staff, who have started to feel like family.
And outside, the stars returned. Of course they did. Namibia’s night sky is one of the darkest in the world — and somehow, even in its blackness, it teaches us how to see more.
We stood outside and watched for a while. Wrapped in layers. Wrapped in quiet.
Grateful for the kind of day that doesn’t need a highlight reel.
Evening now. Dinner done. And just as we were settling into the quiet, the East Wind is creeping back in – sly at first, then louder, bolder, gathering force like it has unfinished business with the dunes (and our skin). The gale is picking up again. Looks like we’re in for another sand-swept night, every crevice filled with desert stories.
And then – a sound.
Low. Guttural. Unmistakable.
A hyena laughing. Right outside the hut. At least… we think it was a hyena. We hope it was a hyena.
Because we honestly don’t know what else would laugh like that in the dark.
Final Thoughts: Stillness Isn’t Empty
It’s full. Full of recovery. Of clarity. Of space to remember who you are when you’re not rushing toward something.
We’re not good at this. Not naturally. But we’re getting better. And days like today help us relearn how to be with each other, not just next to each other. We’ve built a life … a career … on movement, on showing up, on doing.
But maybe the secret to longevity, in love and in business, is in knowing when to stop. Not forever. Just for now.
And in that pause, everything recalibrates.
37 Frames
