37 FramesIt’s just flipped to December 8 here in Japan. That means it’s birthday celebration time!!! So here we go…
There are people who move quietly through life. Who prefer predictability, caution, calm.
And then there’s Tracey.
Our intrepid adventurer. Our global dreamer. Our chaos wrapped in coffee and laughter. (And full-on grumpiness when hangry. Or in the presence of people with no common sense.)
Born on December 8th … the same day the universe decided, “Let’s add a bit more colour, noise, and narrative tension down there.”
The Epic of Tracey (Volume I – ∞)
Every year, we try to sum her up. Every year, we fail. Because how do you write about a woman who can fly to L.A. on a whim just to see a concert, and then somehow end up singing Meatloaf in Paris by Friday? Who’s cried her way to Everest Base Camp and met Julia Roberts in an Indian restaurant in Mongolia? (Yes, that really happened. No, we’ll never top it.)
Tracey doesn’t do ordinary. She collects stories the way other people collect fridge magnets. A little messy, slightly erratic, but entirely unforgettable.
She’s ridden gassy horses across the Mongolian steppes. She’s crawled on all fours out of Haunted Houses at theme parks and ruined hotel carpets with gin, red wine, and laughter. She’s survived a skydiving video that deserves its own Oscar category: Best Accidental Comedy Featuring Existential Terror.
She’s a Seinfeld historian, a Pokémon master, a RuPaul quiz-night queen, and possibly the only person I know who has never really wanted to own things (but will absolutely own the dance floor at 2 a.m. on vinyl night).
And somewhere in the mix … between the Iceland trips and the sausage rolls … lives the pop-culture philosopher who genuinely believes that Michael Scott is one of the great tragic heroes of our time and that Julia Louis-Dreyfus is a certified national treasure. Because of course she is. Excellence deserves recognition.
Through it all, Tracey remains an artist. A storyteller who finds the gold in the cracks, who believes that life, like kintsugi, is most beautiful when it’s imperfectly mended with love, light, and maybe a Dolly Parton lyric or two.
A Love Letter in Motion
Working alongside Tracey is like strapping into a creative roller coaster built on heartbeats, deadlines, and Wi-Fi that sometimes works in the Japanese countryside.
One minute, she’s shooting a luxury wedding in the south of France. The next, she’s rage-tweeting about meme coins, editing through to 3am, and ordering sausage rolls as emotional support.
Her gift? She can find light in absolutely anything.
A storm. A shadow. A stranger’s story.
She notices the invisible. The half-smiles, the held breaths, the quiet between the vows … and turns them into something cinematic. Something that makes people feel seen.
And while she’s photographing the world, she’s also fiercely loving it.
Her family. Her friends. The people who show up at 2 a.m. with a spare tire and snacks. The ones who dance in the living room until the Japanese police knock on the door.
That’s where Tracey’s real art lives. In the in-betweens.
The Philosophy of Hurkle-Durkle
If you know, you know.
Tracey’s holy trinity: a good sleep-in (hurkle-durkle… which by the way, RARELY happens unless we force it upon her… or she’s firmly in holiday mode), a strong almond milk latte with an extra shot of caffeine, and a murder podcast to start the day. Followed by work that’s never really work, and laughter that could power Tokyo.
She’s proof that you can live outrageously and tenderly at the same time.
That you can chase storms, cry over beauty, meme about crypto, and still find time to text a friend just to say, “You good?”
That you can be both artist and anarchist. Both chaos and calm.
Another Year Around the Sun
So here’s to you, Tracey.
To the woman who sees life not as a to-do list, but as an edit in progress.
To the one who keeps teaching us that the best stories aren’t perfect … they’re just true.
May your alt-coins moon.
May your luggage always arrive.
May your next adventure be wild, your next espresso be triple-shot, and your next karaoke session be I Would Do Anything for Love (but I won’t do that).
And may there always be wind to chase, light to catch, and people who love you sooooo much that they always document the madness.
Happy Birthday, Tracey.
We’ll keep telling these stories together … loudly, lovingly, and probably off-key.
Always. Forever. Until the last frame.
37 Frames
