There are so many reasons to get out into nature, but even more to combine it with a creative practice. I wanted to share some key aspects of how photography has acted as as a therapeutic intervention for me, from getting me into a flow state to being able to connect with a community of like-minded people.

This article was originally featured in partnership with VSCO on Instagram. VSCO was the first app I used waaaay back in 2014 for editing my photos, and was the instigator for my life-long obsession with colour. In each photo I’ve labelled my favourite VSCO filters used. Feels fitting to share my love with them <3

1. Encouraging mindfulness

When hiking or in nature with my camera, I slow down to notice details I otherwise might have overlooked. I spend more time absorbing my surroundings, pausing to watch how the light changes a landscape over time, or patiently observing birds and animals amongst the trees. Small details like flowers, textures and shadows become so much more magical and unique when you pause to give it time to show itself.

“I have a theory that the moment one gives close attention to anything, even a blade of grass, it becomes a mysterious, awesome, indescribably magnificent world in itself. I have tried this experiment a thousand times and I have never been disappointed. The more I look at a thing, the more I see in it, and the more I see in it, the more I want to see.”

Henry Miller, Black Spring (1936)

2. Entering a flow state

When editing images I would enter a flow state, spending hours tweaking and adjusting colour. A flow state is a heightened focus while immersed in something you’re passionate about. It can lead to a sense of ecstasy and clarity, allowing your typical mental chatter to fade away,

I would get lost in the experimentation, the learning and the expression that is possible just simply through colour. Studying other photographers work, studying my own film images, and simply creating without expectations of myself.

This was especially present during the COVID-19 lockdown, when I could not explore or get into nature as frequently, I would spend hours in my own world of photography editing and creating to fulfil my need to create.

3. Curiosity to explore

Photography piqued my desire to explore the world with my camera to document, experiment, create and connect. This enchanted feeling of curiosity is linked to memory improvement, lowered depression and anxiety, and access to our flow state.

After my first solo hike near my home town in Australia with my camera in hand, I felt such a life-affirming state of independence and an insatiable curiosity to explore what was around me. I started planning photography focussed trips, getting up at crazy hours for sunrise and driving long distances. Eventually my desire to explore expanded to the point of me moving to Europe and continue to travel the world. This not only lead me across most of mainland Europe, but also to South Africa, Namibia, New Zealand, Patagonia and Japan.

4. Creative and emotional expression

Through composition, colour, light and form I could start to tell stories to express my identity and the way I interpret the world. Self expression is a key aspect of exploring and understanding your inner psyche. All of us see the world in a unique way, impacted from our upbringing and societal stimulus. Expressing this through creativity is our way of understanding and connecting with others.

Over the years my editing style has been through many iterations before it came to my recognisable vibrant, nostalgic style now. Just as I morphed, changed and formed into my adulthood as a person, so did the way I interpret and express the world around me. Looking back through all my years of photography, I can see a part of my soul imprinted in the colour. From the darker, moodier years during the heaviest part of my anxiety, through to the ‘classic instagram’ style shots while I was a little more insecure of my vision, then through to the vibrant, saturated and film-like style I am known for today in my happiest, most grounded years.

5. Connecting to my tribe

While I was connecting deeper to myself and nature through my camera, I also started to connect with a community of like-minded creative souls. I spent most of my teenage years feeling lonely or isolated, like I did not belong. My obsession with photography provided an international community of photographers online, and offline got me connecting to others through photo walks, workshops or a simple coffee. Eventually I started to host my own workshops and group trips with the soul aim of connecting others through a shared creative love. Arguably, this has been the most rewarding part of this journey for me - enabling others to feel connected and like they belong.

6. Confidence

I never studied photography in a formal institute, instead teaching myself through practice, experimentation and dedication. As I saw myself improve and opportunities coming my way, my confidence in myself, my eye and my vision increased. I knew if I stayed true to myself and my heart, I could how learn to do anything.

Outside of confidence artistically, I also grew confidence in my own independence and reliance on myself. I travelled and explored many remote places, hiked huge mountains and slept out in nature - often all on my own. Photography truly gave me the life tools to build resilience, strength and determination from a place of curiosity.

But out of all of these things, the most important thing was: Photography got me out of my head.

My constant mental chit chat, worries about the future and things not in my control faded away. What was left was the present moment. And that’s all that truly matters.

I’m so grateful for how this medium changed my life, as well as a childhood upbringing that taught me the importance of creativity, expression and connection to the outdoors. Happy World Photography Day ✨🙏 Go pick up a camera, get outside, experiment and express your unique view of the world.

J x

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Find a short, intimate video version of this hike’s field notes here:

I think I can only truly describe Yakushima as pure ancestral magic. A realm of Spirits, Gods and Deitys. A place to be respected. A place that belongs truly to the animals and plants; we humans are just visitors in this domain. It’s no wonder that Hayao Miyazaki from Studio Ghibli was inspired by this island and its history for the animated film Princess Mononoke.

I am a huge fan of the Princess Mononoke story. I have seen this film so many times - feeling a connection to the wild little girl protecting the spirits and the forest she belongs to. A story formed around humanity’s unbalanced relationship with nature in an age of industrialisation and destruction for profit. A story which has never lost it’s meaning in our current age. And a story which inspired me to travel to one of the most spiritual forests I have experienced.

Yakushima is a small circular island off the south west coast of Japan, about 135km south of Kagoshima city. UNESCO world heritage listed for it’s natural beauty in 1993, this island is a spiritual wonder full of ancient cedar trees, densely packed forests covered in moss and gushing waterfalls over granite rock faces. The island’s rugged terrain reaches nearly 2,000m in the mountainous centre, rising almost directly from the sea. With one road that circumnavigates the coast - you can just imagine how impenetrable the mountainous terrain is in the centre.

One thing about this island that astonished me is that there is almost no soil for forests to grow from. The island is made from granite, yet over millennia gigantic cedar trees have flourished, died, regrown and flourished again from their own stump – all from the life giving properties of moss. And water, lots of water. “On Yakushima, it rains 35 days a month.” Quite an accurate depiction written by Fumiko Hayashi in her novel Ukigumo. During our visit it rained nearly constantly, with the end of our hike turning into a torrential downpour so intense cascades formed over the road as we drove down the mountain.

Our hike was a long 26km in-and-out to see the incredible Jōmon Sugi Cedar - the oldest known cedar tree on the island, estimated to be between 2,500 and 7,200 years old. Taking the longer path via Shiratani Unsuikyo Gorge moss forest, which served as the inspiration for the lead art director in Princess Mononoke, our round trip was almost 10 hours of movement (find the hike on Komoot here).

The immense beauty of Yakushima made me feel welcomed and at one with Earth, yet always with a feeling that I must tread lightly and respectfully – for this is the domain of spirits and Gods, and I am merely a humble human visitor granted access.

In classic Yakushima weather, our hike was spent inside of a rain cloud. While I admit my mood is often directly powered by the sun, I consider ourselves immensely lucky that we got to witness the forest in this misty, magical state. It felt completely alive – the moss breathing life into the forest floor, water dripping from the leaves overhead, droplets building on the webs of spiders, the smell of cedar and fresh rain omnipresent. We wound our way through moss gardens, crossing streams and climbing through (yes, through!) gigantic tree trunks several meters in diameter. For a while the path follows an old logging railway line, a relic of a sad past of over-logging during the Edo period, until turning off at a waterfall to climb steeply again via boardwalks and wooden stairs built to protect the moss.

Before coming to Jōmon Sugi, you also pass by Wilson’s Stump - the remains of another ancient cedar that did not make it through the logging period. The dense path opens to a small clearing, revealing the immense scale of the surrounding trees you have been walking amongst for hours. When I think of the word stump, I think of a tree that has had it’s life cut short by human hands – one that could have been grand, immense and unwavering. A feeling of sadness of what could have been. While Wilson’s Stump showed exactly this loss through the comparison of the remains to the height of the surrounding Cedars, I couldn’t help but feel that the memory of the tree and it’s grandeur lived on in a softer, more powerful and symbolic sense. The stump itself has hollowed out, with a gentle stream running through the base. Inside is a small shrine, built in reverence to honour the ancient cedar and its spiritual passage. When you look up through the cedar remains, the shape takes on that of a heart. An ever lasting gift from the forest spirits to those who visit, reminding us that even when felled, the loving spirit of nature remains.

We continue up and up and up, the wooden boardwalks the only way to navigate easily through the density and steepness of the forest. The mist thickening as we cross paths with only a few other hikers - they’re staying the night near the cedar in designated camping areas. A small pang of jealousy, I know that spending the night in the presence of such giants would be magical.

Reaching Jōmon Sugi, the path opens to a wooden viewing platforms a good distance from the base. Diffused, misty light fills in the void between us and the cedar. The lush leaves reflecting into the atmosphere, leaving a green tint to the entire surroundings. The twisted, lumpy trunk curves like a sculpture formed only by the expanse of time, rain and wind. A feature that saved it from being felled alongside its brothers and sisters. The tree is so wide and so tall, we can barely see the top.

The Japanese term Yaoyorozu No Kami means Eight Million Gods, and refers to the idea that there are countless Gods or Deity’s living amongst us, present in every thing and every object. The mountains, oceans, the wind and of course the trees.

Hiking on Yakushima humbles you with not only the physical scale of the surrounding landscapes, but the scale of time itself. It’s as if you have entered a realm where time is inconsequential - minutes slow down, seconds stretch out before you. Trees that have stood for centuries, perhaps seeding during the Shang dynasty or the birth of the Sanskrit language in India. They do not know the construct of time passing, the tiny life spans of the creatures that live amongst its twisting roots. They are a constant giver of life, energy and wisdom to those in their presence.

It’s in these moments we connect to an energy greater than we can perceive. A divine knowledge that we belong and are welcome in the presence of these thousand year old spirits. That we are all truly connected to those who came before, and those who come long after.

J x

The essay a response to the theme of comfort zones from Elizabeth Gilbert’s Substack Letters from Love, where you write yourself a letter from the Spirit of Unconditional Love (SOUL). It’s a very interesting exercise, and one that I have struggled to find comfort in (!!), especially one with using “we” terminology, in talking to yourself from compassion and love.

I have not been writing so much these past months - I left my job, moved country, travelled Japan, completed 200hrs of Yoga Teacher Training and have now been finding my feet in a new city and life as a self-employed freelancer.

Some weeks I have strength and motivation – productivity through the roof, celebrating small wins. Others I feel lost and found myself sucked into a vortex of should thinking and decision paralysis. I struggle to know where I should put my energy in my business – there are so many avenues which I could follow, but which one is best? Which one will lead to stability and income? I should be doing what they’re doing. I should. I should. I should…

In amongst this though, I’ve tried to maintain some creative endeavours that are purely for my own joy and expansion.

So that includes experimenting with video.

It’s a medium I have been interested in for a long time, yet working primarily as a photographer it seems incredibly daunting to me. But in anything that is daunting, is growth and learning.

I’m pretty proud of this first attempt at video storytelling. I hope you like it too.

And I hope to be back soon with more writing and photo essays.

Jade x

Here is the YouTube version if you’re interested.

Living out of alignment

For the last years of my chapter in Berlin, a part of me deep inside was growing more and more restless. Every time I returned to the city from a visit abroad the unease bubbling under the surface in my body grew stronger. I was spending all my time, money and energy trying to travel away from Berlin than actually live there.

It was a growing rejection not only of the place itself, but also of the life I was meant to be living there. My role inside of the system, my role I had aligned my identity to.

This unease and part of me that I had been locking away and ignoring violently snapped the last time I returned to Berlin after a long stay abroad (traveling the Alps over summer and then followed by a home visit to Australia). I found myself curled over on the edge of my bed, staring at the floor with a deep sense of panic and displacement in my chest. Uncontrollably crying, uncontrollably shaking at the simple prospect of opening my laptop and doing my day job. Every single cell in my body was in rejection of this. I was having a panic attack.

On paper I was leading the exact life I had dreamed of — I was working as a lead designer in a mental health company in an incredible creative city. It was flexible, my team was wonderful, I could travel, I could also pursue photography on the side. I was doing good with my skillset and generating a positive impact on others lives. Why wasn’t I happy, feeling fulfilled?

On that return to Berlin, the solace that being closer to nature and the environment was providing me was abruptly taken away and I was faced with the fact that the life I had built, my job, my home and the lifestyle there was completely out of alignment with the integrity of my soul. I could no longer lie to myself that I could maintain this facade. The part of me trying to maintain this was burned out and screaming at me to be seen, acknowledged and taken care of.

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Unlearning societal programming

My school education in Australia programmed me into believing that my value as a human is directly linked to my output, job and career status within a capitalistic societal structure. If I couldn’t do that, if I wouldn’t do that — I am a failure of a human. A failure to society. Any career path that wasn’t within higher education and academia, was seen as “lower society” – i.e., not enough. Not smart enough, not reaching your full potential, not generating enough. Honestly, it felt like just existing as a human was not enough.

I was programmed to believe that following my passions in photography, yoga and nature guiding was not a real economic or academic contribution to society. I believed that the part of me that was so desperate to be connected to nature was a part of me that had to be sacrificed in order to fit into the working systems. I believed I was not worthy of giving the core parts of my soul space to be nourished and flourish. I convinced myself these were all hobbies and not real, potential callings that I was allowed to place at the forefront of my life’s passion and intentions.

I had a major programming block in my mind that was preventing me from living with integrity to my soul. It was a duel of opposing beliefs, causing an inner turmoil that was so confusing, muddy and painful it has taken me years to unravel.

In the blunt painful truth of it — I needed to delayer my jaded perspective of “career paths” and how I attributed their worth to society. How incredibly judgmental, privileged and classist this programming was built into my perspective. I had to completely break from the concept of a “job” defining me and more so realign with my “soul purpose” defining me.

Fears as guides for growth

This was definitely not a clear, linear and easy path forward. Self doubt, lack of confidence and anxiety was rampant in my mind (as it has been a consistent companion for a large portion of my adult life). As I slowly work through this change, I can feel that those emotions that have riddled me and held me back, are slowly being dismantled. I see them now as fears from parts of my psyche trying to protect itself, I can see them now as tangible problems to be solved. Because I can feel intuitively in my body that I am on the right path, I have the courage to trust myself and no longer believe the lies that were programmed into me.

Despite the fact that this new path I am on has many unknowns and subsequent fears, the feeling of alignment and relief in my body far outweighs the stress symptoms from living out of alignment with my inner compass. The fear of being stuck and living a lie was considerably greater than the fear of making change and the unknowns associated with it.

Every single day that I see the mountains, that I spend working on creating for myself, that I shed the programming that I have to prove my worth, every new authentic connection I make – feels like a universal alignment that I have not felt for a long time. The trust I have in myself and my own courage, in a deep knowing that this will work out, makes my fears feel like exciting challenges to overcome instead of road blocks.

I am so grateful for the Berlin chapter of my life, but I am also grateful to have it closed. To know I have outgrown this city and my next path is exactly where I need to be, at exactly the right time.

If you’re interested, here are some key readings which helped plant the seeds in my mind to find the courage to follow this path.

1. The Way of Integrity - Martha Beck

2. Ologies with Alie Ward FEAROLOGY episode 1, and episode 2.

3. Big Magic - Elizabeth Gilbert

4. Upstream - Mary Oliver

5. The Untethered Soul: The Journey Beyond Yourself - Michael A. Singer

You always have access to four guides.

Your nervous system, your intuition, your values and the Earth.

- Kate Van Horn

J x

Buy me a coffee

While i’ve come to find myself comfortable with being alone in nature, I also recognise that some of the most profound memories I have are sharing those experiences with other kindred spirits. Those moments of seeing the first light of day over a landscape, only to glance to your friend and see a silent tear streaming down their cheek. A look of complete awe on their face. A shared love for this moment, seared into my minds eye. I am convinced these moments are what it means to be alive.

We’re living in a system designed for hyper-individualism and separation. Our online social media spaces have become dictated by those who have little social skills themselves, with the end goal to turn us into products for their own gain. To separate us, to distract us, to cause divide and keep us compliant. Many of us find ourselves burning inside of the speed of this system - churning, draining, distracting at a pace so fast we can barely breathe. I know this, I have been there (repetitively).

We need to reclaim our spaces to breathe, connect, feel, experience - at our own pace. To disconnect in order to reconnect with whichever part of you is asking, begging. We are all inherently creative, and we all inherently belong in nature. It is where our souls have always been - long before and long after our bodies inhabit this Earth.

I started hosting creative adventure workshops as a way to share this transformative power of nature, community and creativity. I want people to find “their” people (you know, those who stop constantly on hikes to take a photo), heal within the non-judgemental space of the mountains, and connect to their inner creative - without expectation of what they “should be doing”.

Since then, I’ve hosted 3 workshops with other photographers and mountain guides in the Dolomites and Switzerland. Every year, I’m reminded of the transformative power of connecting people through nature and photography and the immense joy it brings.

This years workshops are already open (halfway filled!) and it still blows my mind and I do a little happy dance every single time someone applies and books (my partner can attest to this whenever I get an email haha). I will never take it for granted that this dream to connect creatives is alive - that people apply, book and trust me with their precious time. It is an absolute privilege every single trip, and it affects me deeply every time I witness the emotional and creative transformation over the week.

2026 Hiking & Photography Workshops:

Nepal: Annapurna Base Camp

November 1st - 14th 2026
6-14 participants

Starting and ending in Kathmandu, we take on the iconic 9-day trek to Annapurna Base Camp in a journey that blends adventure with the creative energy of community exploration. We’re guided by a local female guide and her team, while focussing on photography throughout the trek. I will be there to guide you in photography and creative storytelling as well as provide grounding meditation sessions as we immerse ourselves in the majesty of the Himalayas.

Nepal Workshop Information

Switzerland: Valais & Gimmelwald Hut Trekking

August 24th - 30th 2026
5-7 participants

Co-hosted with Mathilde Rietsch, this is our third annual hiking and photography workshop. This workshop is designed as a creative exploration together with the emphasis on learning photographic storytelling while exploring lesser known, rugged and downright stunning areas of Switzerland. Connect with like-minded adventurers, sharpen your photography skills, release your creative energy and find inspiration in the Alps’ breathtaking beauty.

Switzerland Workshop Information

Future plans

I feel deeply that enabling people to connect to themselves, their inner creative and each other through nature is the path I am meant to be on. Hosting and maintaining energy spaces in a group dynamic is a privilege that I take seriously, and want to ensure the best experiences for my participants.

In March I will be undertaking a second round of Yoga Teacher Training (200hrs) to prepare and improve my skills in workshop facilitation and also to begin teaching yoga locally again. So while the workshops are primarily photography and hiking focussed, this further training improves my ability to create a space safe enough for participants to switch off and connect creatively.

With this training, I also intend to add slower, more retreat style workshops to the lineup. I am truly so, so energised by the opportunity to create an environment of joy by bringing together a group of people with the same intentions and places in life. The love of nature, the love of creativity, and the love of connection. I truly believe these are magical experiences and I am unbelievably excited to enable this for others in the future.

So, will you join me for a life-changing experience, to live a vibrant life outdoors, to reconnect with our spirits and experience the absolute raw majesty that this Earth has to offer?

J x

I wanted to spend time to sit down and go through my catalogue from 2025 and pick my favourites moments in mother nature. It’s always where I feel most at home and is how I started my love for photography. There were plenty of hikes that were spectacular that I did not add to this post (415km of hiking completed!). So I tried to keep it succinct to photos and memories that impacted me in a deeper way than simply a great photo (but some are just great photos).

An intimate, homely stay at Berggasthaus Trift, Zermatt.

This “Accidentally Wes Anderson” place is so special I visited twice last year - first was with the Zermatt tourism board and second was taking my own photography workshop group. After my first time there and meeting the iconic Hugo, the hut owner for over 30 years, I needed to bring this experience to my group. The hut has a charming, romantic and family-run feeling compared to a lot of high-end serviced huts in Switzerland. When I visited with my workshop group, Hugo treated us to a personalised breakfast out on the patio after we returned from our sunrise hike (usually, everyone takes it inside!).

Interested in photography and hiking workshops? Learn more here

A breathtaking sunrise above the Zermatt valley, Switzerland.

This was truly a photographers cloud inversion dream. I was in disbelief. A group of us were invited to Zermatt with their tourism board (still pinching myself over this invite) to explore and create together. We hiked from Gerggasthaus Trift up to a ridge overlooking the Matterhorn and the Zermatt town. Below us the valley was cloaked in a soft, billowing cloud as the rising sun softly lit up the surrounding peaks. Phenomenal.

Achieving new heights on the Höllental Klettersteig to the Zugspitze Summit, Germany.

I decided, quite spontaneously while I was on a solo hiking tour in Bavaria, that I wanted to do a Klettersteig (Via Ferrata) up to summit Zugspitze - the tallest mountain in Germany. I booked a guide and ended up being in a group of only female climbers, just out doing exactly the same thing I wanted to do. Push their limits, get out of their comfort zone, and enjoy the majesty of the high alpine.

Finding comfort in alpine bivouacking alone.

I wanted to challenge myself to feeling comfortable in sleeping alone in a bivouac or tent at night in the high alpine. Something that I was used to doing in Australia, somehow started to seem frightening after a long time sleeping in huts instead. After the scary first time was actually very chill, I ended up going again a few times throughout the year and got more confident. It was a perfect solace for my mind when it was overloaded - retreating into the silence of the mountains and feeling comfort in the reliance of myself. Also a space for me to experiment with video and not only photo.

Spontaneously bike-packing through the Karwendel Range with my flatmate and her parents

This was my first ever big bike-packing trip, and it was absolutely spectacular. My flatmate in Innsbruck spontaneously invited me to join her parents (all three of them with mountain bikes, and me with a gravel bike) on an overnight tour. We climbed insane mountain passes and descended on tracks absolutely meant for mountain bikes. But I had a BLAST and it made me so excited for more gravel tours to come.

Witnessing the lunar eclipse over a Glacier

While I was driving to Switzerland to start our 2025 workshop, I was planning to stop at Morteratsch glacier to spend the night in Bovalhütte. I didn’t know until that day there would be a lunar eclipse - hiking to the hut just an hour before it appeared behind the glacier. Somehow my iPhone made do better than the equipment I had with me - a sight I will never forget.

Returning my soul to nature in Cape Town

The beginning of the year was a rough one, where I struggled to find direction and had zero creative juice left. I was burned out. While in Australia and Cape Town I focussed on reconnecting to things that bring me joy - being in nature. South Africa is an astonishingly beautiful place, full of beautiful people. It helped me to heal and find creative inspiration through connecting to nature, my soul and others again.

The memories that stick the most: the unplanned, the challenges, the magic moments.

I am fortunate to do a lot of hiking, which means I also plan a lot of hiking to be in the right place at the right time to make the best of witnessing nature’s grandeur. But one of the biggest things I have learned over the years is to always embrace spontaneity and slow down when the universe is indicating there is magic to come.

Often pushing, forcing and expecting a certain outcome leads to disappointment. This also includes aiming to be at certain vantage points, or aiming for a certain shot. Nearly always my favourite memories and also my favourite photos come from unplanned experiences, in-between moments when creative inspiration strikes.

Looking forward to many more magic moments in nature in 2026.

I thought it a perfect time to share a very simple tradition I started with myself a few years ago that i’ve since shared with friends and colleagues. I recently learned that my colleague also shared this with her friends last year, who now annually partake in this exercise as a group! That made my heart sing, and inspired me to share again this little reflection and manifestation exercise.

Each New Year, I decide on one single word I would like to encompass in the coming year. Often it is in relation to something I feel I am lacking, want to put more emphasis on as I move forward, or is already present and I want to fully embody it. While that word may start with an intention in mind, it typically transforms it’s meaning throughout the year as it is applied to new experiences.

I enjoy this tradition because to me it is so simple (i’ve never really been a New Years resolution kind of person). I can easily come back to this word throughout the year, and it doesn’t feel like some huge decision that might add pressure and feel like a failure. It is malleable and it grounds me in past, present and future.

To give you some ideas and context, these are the words I’ve chosen over the past few years:

2025: Process

I wanted to sink into, be fully present and enjoy the processes I was embarking on this year. My original intention was centered around the process of recovery from a creative burnout, the process of learning a new creative skill, and the processing of physical health recovery. It’s a broad word, and can be applied to so many facets. In the end that was the magic of it - always reminding me that every experience is part of a larger process to enjoy.

2024: Pride

Often we move forward onto “what’s next” so quickly, that we don’t give ourselves the time and space to sit in a sense of pride of achievements and how far we have come. I wanted to give myself permission to feel proud of myself - for how hard I had worked to be where I was in life. In my career, in my confidence of myself, in my friendships and relationships. In the end, this word manifested in a way I would never have expected. I nearly lost my life to a septic infection early in the year, hospitalising me in intensive care for almost a month. I spent the remainder of my year in physical and mental recovery. The pride I felt in my body for keeping me alive and the sheer determination of my mind was one I will never, ever lose.

2023: Joy

Instead of choosing a word that I felt was lacking at the end of 2022, I instead chose a word that had recently returned to my life: Joy. I was on the tail end of many years of deep anxiety and panic disorders, having lost my identity in a long term relationship and the throws of moving to a foreign country. Finally I was finding myself again - I was feeling such an elation of joy in my friendships and life that I wanted to sink into it. I wanted to give myself the entire year of joy - no pressure, no expectations, no pushing, no striving for change. I deserved this feeling, and my goodness was it felt so fully. I danced, I sung, I hiked and I reconnected with my inner vibrant spirit.

2022: Flow

This was the first year I actively started this exercise, and it came from an intention to relinquish control and flow more freely with what the universe has laid out for me. As a person with a long history of anxiety, it had manifested as an extreme need to control my surroundings in order to protect my psyche. I knew in my heart that to be free of this, I needed to relinquish control and flow. I think I was inspired by a quote from Deepak Chopra, which I still refer back to when I feel the need.

“If you obsess over whether you are making the right decision, you are basically assuming that the universe will reward you for one thing and punish you for another.

The universe has no fixed agenda. Once you make any decision, it works around that decision. There is no right or wrong, only a series of possibilities that shift with each thought, feeling, and action that you experience.”

My 2026 word: Courage

So, as we move into the new year of 2026, I intend to manifest and encompass the word Courage. I am starting the year strong by moving my home base to the mountains (on January 2nd!) to start fresh. I have intentions for large changes this year and these require courage. Courage to believe in myself, to take chances, to ask for help, to push myself physically in new endeavors. I am aware that my own mind and chronic self doubt have been my own worst enemy for most of my adult life. It takes courage to free myself from this, to climb that mountain, to unlearn many years of making myself fit into a system that my soul was not meant to be within.

I start a new year with a heart full of all my previous years intentions: Flow, Joy, Pride, Process and now Courage.

Reflection exercises

I sit with this concept in my mind for a few weeks leading up to the new year, allowing it to stew in my subconscious. I notice signs, identify repeated themes in conversation with friends, and spend time journalling and reflecting on this past year. Some prompts I might ask myself:

• Where were you a year ago?

• Who were you a year ago?

• What has happened this year that you want more of?

• What has happened that you want less of?

• Are you in a place of change?

• Are you in a place of comfort?

• Who do you want to become?

Some further examples of words that friends have used over the past years are: Trust, Confidence, Freedom, Commitment. Some friends “cheat” a little and allow themselves a small phrase instead, whichever works for you.

I would love to know what your word for 2026 would be (or phrase!). Sharing and discussing can help others to identify parts that they might want to focus on too. Or perhaps you have your own new year tradition to share?

Wishing you a wonderful holiday season and start into 2026.

-Jade

Little firefly, getting out of our comfort zone is our comfort zone.

Do you remember when we first sent ourselves on a hike alone, climbing the peak near our family home while recovering from the dark despair of anxiety and depression? The comfort we found in nature, the comfort of our own two feet, of our own capabilities, the reliance on ourselves, the pride and power we felt to climb that peak.

Do you remember all the times since, when we explored a landscape all alone, sometimes finding ourselves in dangerous situations (yep, that blizzard is a harsh memory), sometimes exhausted and a little out of our league. But we found comfort in our own ability. Comfort in the simple, reliable demands of mountains and nature. Comfort in the silence of the valley, only the rhythm of our steps and breath to remind us we’re alive and one with the world around us.

Year after year, we have sought out that feeling. When the pressure and expectations of the world becomes too much, when our nervous system is spiralling, we return to two constants: nature and ourselves.

We find comfort in a space without judgement. Comfort in curiously exploring. Comfort in having no where to be. Comfort of crying at the sight of a rainbow through a waterfall. Comfort in the pain of our muscles after 6hrs of hiking. In our spike of fear while clinging to a rock over a glacier. In our elation of achieving a new thing.

Sometimes we forget this, I know. It’s okay. Sometimes we feel trapped in expectations of society to perform and be perfect (but yes, my love, the only one putting those expectations is us…). Sometimes we feel lonely, feeling weird that everyone else’s comfort zones seem to be our discomfort zone.

Restless little cricket, our spirit was not meant to be held in the concrete, sensory harshness of a big city. Our spirit was not meant to be stationary. Our spirit was intended for the forest. For the ocean. For the mountains. For curiosity. Our spirit was intended to explore the earth, the sea and the sky.

So, little firefly, return to the comfort of the exploration of the world around you whenever you need. We are always with you.

This was a response to the theme of comfort zones from Elizabeth Gilbert’s Substack Letters from Love, where you write yourself a letter from the Spirit of Unconditional Love (SOUL). It’s a very interesting exercise, and one that I have struggled to find comfort in (!!), especially one with using “we” terminology, in talking to yourself from compassion and love.

I wrote this piece in June 2025, after sending myself on a solo trek in the Bavarian Alps for a few days of hut-to-hut and some cheeky remote camping. I was still recovering from a burnout, and taking the final steps to return to my centre of being.

Well, it’s December 2025 now and I can say that i’ve (yet again) found myself slowly crawling my way out of another burnout. I stopped publishing both writing (and less photography) for the second half of this year. My workload, expectations of myself, saying yes to too much that did not serve me, and misalignment of my priorities with the needs of my soul were too much. In October I returned to Berlin after a summer in the Alps and in Australia, and my nervous system promptly crumpled. Whatever solace that the natural environment was giving me to get through the intense workload was removed, revealing the stark panic that had been ignored for so long under the surface.

Right now i’m in the process of removing blockers in my mind to start releasing work again. Remembering the satisfaction and joy of creation. Of the immense pleasure of knowing that perhaps someone, somewhere is touched by my words and art. That the reason I am here is to share all the wonderful facets of being human.

This piece was a reminder that my comfort zone is discomfort, and the most comfortable version of myself curiously exploring the world around me. My comfort zone is the reliance on my body and mind. A comfort to turn to when the weight of the world is too much. A space without judgement. No expectations.

So I return to my comfort zone of curiosity and exploration. Of what is to come in my next chapter of life, knowing that I have actioned that restless cricket’s cry for help. Her next adventure is living in a place of mountains, forests and nature.

So, what does your body tell you about your comfort zone?

-Jade

“Instructions for living a life.
Pay attention.
Be astonished.
Tell about it.”

The classic- Mary Oliver

“Hey Jade - when are you landing in Cape Town again? My family have a group booking to hike The Leopard trail in February. But I think it starts the day your flight gets in. Do you want to try change it to come?”

True friends are the ones ones who know you will absolutely, definitely change your flight for an opportunity to go for a multi day hike.

Naturally, I arrived to Cape Town two days earlier than originally planned, dumped my things at the flat and jumped in a Land Rover for the 6 hour drive to Wilderness to join our crew of 8. The Leopard Trail was 4 days of remote desert hiking 60km over rugged unforgiving terrain - and exactly the type of offline detox that I needed. Or really, probably the type of offline radical presence that maybe we all need these days.

I cleansed my spirit under the stars, watched the setting sun reveal hidden caves in the rocks, ate my weight in carbs each night sitting around a fire, and challenged myself creatively with no expectations of the results. On reflection, it was the catalyst in me reconnecting with my inner wild self and retreating from the pressure of being online and perpetually “growing”.

Think arid, rugged mountains and towering cliffs dropping into a hidden oasis of waterfalls. The crunch of your boots accompanied only by the chitter chatter of your friends and the distant barking of a Baboon, who spotted you well before you’ve spotted it. Sharing the crackling fire together as you prepare supper with the setting sun. Looking up at an endless canopy of stars, the softness of your sleep bag a welcome cocoon on your tired muscles. And above all; a radical boredom which makes space for patience, presence and exploring new creative muscles.

The stats

If you’re interested in the specifics of what we did, you can check out the stats and the day-by-day details on Komoot here.

Length: 4 days

Location: Baviaanskloof, Wilderness Reserve, South Africa

Distance: 60km

Number of Leopards spotted: None

Number of Leopard prints spotted: One (by yours truly!)

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Camp to camp slack packing: a new approach

A new South African term for me. Which honestly I think is my new favourite thing—both the actual word and the act of doing that word.

Slack packing feels like somewhere between going full remote wilderness (BYO camp stove, camp site) and the luxurious hut-to-hut half-board hiking offered in the European alps. You trek between camps on a defined trail with just a day pack, while your main food and night-time supplies are shuttled for you between each location. Old me used to scoff at this - wanting to do it “properly” by carrying all my things. Now days I rejoice in a lighter backpack and being more nimble, especially with soaring summer temperatures.

Each camp consisted of 4 stand alone huts sleeping 4 with 2 bunk beds, a communal camp kitchen, communal Braai spot and some even had a little pool. They were beautifully spaced out with the landscape in mind, giving you the feeling that you were still disconnected from society and present with your community.

With not having to physically carry your own food on your back for several days, it means you can eat GOOD. Each hut site is equipped with an indoor kitchen and a truly inviting camp fire spot for Braai—the South African term for a BBQ (Aussie) or Grill (German). Funny how we all have terms for such a social human activity.

Time around camp is one of idle tasks, everyone taking on their roles of cooking or washing. I love that campfires turn into the shared project of the group, some designating themselves fire masters, but all of us at some points feeling a responsibility to keep the flame alight—our little connection point for the social group to gravitate around.

Following the rhythm of the wilderness

With the heat of the region, we were advised the best way to approach the trail is to split each day in two sections, finding shade and a water source to stay put in during the middle of the day.

This was initially at odds with our usual approach to hiking, where you may push through to your end goal and perhaps have time for relaxation there. The first two days we didn’t spend long enough in the halfway point, thinking we could push through to the camp spot for respite. But this resulted in hiking in almost unbearable heat conditions. It was clear: our usual “goal oriented” approach to getting to camp was not going to work here. We had to follow the rhythm of the landscape, tune in and listen to our environment.

By our third day of hiking we understood the need to stay put in the middle of the day, leaving as early as possible - sometimes before a coffee! - to make it to the halfway point source of water and the promise of cooler temperatures. There we identified our water-hole nap spots. Half sun, half shade was the prime deal.

There we would eat our packed lunch, nap, listen to the birds, maybe read, probably nap some more and do, quite deliciously, nothing. In these blissful periods there were no chores, no to-do-lists and absolutely nothing expected of you.

We were fantastically, sublimely, whole heartedly bored.

When was the last time you allowed yourself to feel bored? To strip away every task - creating an open field of possibilities in front of you. Or perhaps a feeling of weightlessness. A reprieve from the pressure of daily life.

As I lay next to the creek, tracking the sun track through the trees above me I pondered the life of the local Leopards. Do they feel the passage of time as we humans do? Do those who remain present with the Earth on a day to day basis feel the burden of over stimulation? Of the pressure to perform, to grow infinitely, to follow a life map that you’re not even sure is yours? Maybe i’m jealous of the life of a Leopard.

The single minded meditation that comes with multi-day trekking is the biggest reason I constantly find myself coming back to it, why I love it so much. With a mind often suffering from anxiety, over thinking and a self-afflicted pressure to perform and “be enough” in society. When i’m on a single track trail all of that falls away. My only expectation of myself is to get from point A to point B, and enjoy every moment along the way.

It’s rare now to find yourself deep in the wilderness, so far away from reception, away from devices and the outside world competing for your attention. No phones, no reception, no distractions.

It often takes me a few days on the trek for my mind to finally switch off being online, forget about the outside world and then become actually present. The pathways of my mind settling into the new rhythm. I found the brutal harshness of this landscape accelerated this process for me - truly forcing my mind and body to be here to simply survive. I could not force my way through the heat of the day, what would be the point? Who and what would I be proving? The best approach is to flow with the situation and environment present to you, not against it. Take the blissful opportunity to actually relax, and simply just be.

The untamed wilderness taming a restless mind

South Africa, at large, feels like a never ending invitation for wild exploration. A deep connection to nature, untamed, relentless.

As an Australian, it has always felt eerily familiar. Like an Auntie’s home you visit as a child and return as an adult - all the signs of familiarity are there, but a little different. Fynbos like an adjacent version of our Banksias, the unforgiving harsh oranges of the landscape mirroring our ochre reds of the central desert. Low lying arid shrubbery giving way to cool water holes. But replace Kangaroos with Baboons and add some Leopards into the mix. This landscape feels at first fiercely uninviting, but is actually an opportunity to fully soften and rest your mind to the present moment.

Right here, right now.

J, x

Recently, I supported and photographed the Berliner Halbmarathon. It was incredible day of witnessing the human spirit and willpower in peak performance. I had just written my first Substack essay on my intentions to slow down and create more intentionally with my community. So naturally, this got me thinking - how does my relationship with body movement and endurance sports sit inside of this diagram of fast and slow? Maybe it is not so binary.

When writing the topic for this essay, I already noticed some thoughts of “who would even resonate with this? Would my little audience even care? Maybe I shouldn’t post it (or finish writing it).” WOW. My imposter syndrome and over-analytical perfectionist mindset from Instagram was creeping in already! I started this journey because I wanted a place to free-flow my thoughts. If people resonate, here for it! If they don’t, also here for it! So with that said - let’s get going on the thoughts tossing in my head the past week so that I can put them down and move on.

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Physical performance: fast or slow?

At first thought I wondered if the fast, intense movement of sports is the opposite to the slowness (being inherently calm, intentional, patient, unhurried) i’ve been craving. Is pushing our physical limits and our body really a state of calm? We might associate it with control, aggression and stress. In my initial gut reaction to this thought, I definitely associated sport activities as “fast” - controlling, aggressive and often quite literally fast.

Body movement, exercise and sports has been a core part of my life for basically my whole life. It’s an identifier that I shied away from in my young adult years, but have reignited full force as I tuned into my body in a new manner. Hiking, cycling, yoga, cycling, running, swimming, triathlons and now trail running. But it has not always been a healthy connection.

In the past I used exercise as a control method when I felt out of control (or really, out of spiritual alignment) with other parts of my life. I pushed my body, I restricted it, I controlled it to a point of breaking and injuring. I sometimes felt defeated and angry when indeed it did break down. It was an unhealthy relationship, one born from stress and cultural stigmas. A pressure to prove myself capable and perform in order to be seen as strong and independent. To fit into a mans world of achievement, to be taken seriously or even admired. To be “enough” as a human being.

The past approach I had to endurance sports absolutely fell into the fast life definition of “busy, controlling, aggressive, hurried, analytical, stressed, superficial, impatient, active, quantity-over-quality.”

Flipping the mental model

When I imagine a mental image of a slow life it might be of a cup of tea, a book, deep conversations with friends, being disconnected in nature. Heck, even annoyingly the cottage-core mental image of a girl in a white dress, reading a book in a meadow with daisies in it pops into my head. I realised this mental image of a slow life has been skewed by what I had consumed on social media. This is not who I am.

In order to live by the definitions of a slow life that resonated with me - “calm, careful, receptive, still, intuitive, unhurried, patient, reflective, quality-over-quantity” - am I meant to give up the parts that are fast? How does my love of endurance sports and pushing my physical limits fit into this model? It felt like two opposing forces in me at odds with each other.

Because of this trendy mental image I had constructed of a “slow life” (and, admittedly some judgement of this aesthetic) a part of me still held a belief of it being passive and not taking life’s nuances and decisions by the reigns.

But I realised a slow life is not a passive life.

It is engaged, awake and attuned.

This realisation felt like my intentionality with how I want to approach life clicked into place. There is no correctness about the labels described as a slow life over a fast life. There is a duality in which both can exist, one forming a gateway in order to access another.

A gateway to stillness

Body movement is a gateway to stillness of the mind. We dig deeper into our physical limits to access a portal within of flow state. My mind is focussed on being right here, right now. Placing one foot in front of the other, focussing on form, concentrating to not trip down a mountain, counting strokes and laps in the pool, feeling the wind while cycling through a forest, focussing on the breath while holding a deep lunge.

Endurance sports and movement has provided me with a deeper, intuitive connection to my body and my energy life force. Knowing when to push, when to back off, when to give grace and compassion and be receptive to these changes (especially as a woman!).

Feeling the energy forces of your environment around you. Listening to your breath, the rhythmic pounding of your feet on the ground, the crack of a stick under foot, the soothing effect of rounded sound underwater.

So is ultra sports just the ultimate, extended exercise in being radically present? You can’t be anywhere else but right there when you’re pushing your limits in a flow state.

Staying present

I believe, though, that there is a fine balance to walk between these two states of being. It is easy to fall back into a controlled, aggressive mentality in sports. Especially in a world of competition, comparison and wanting to perform better and better. We may find ourselves thinking “oh my time should be getting better”, “I should be faster, why isn’t my training paying off?” (or some variation of this should phrase that is entirely constructed by societal expectations).

For me, noticing when this singular word “should” pops up has always been key to recognising when I am acting from a state of intuition (slow) versus an influence of external expectations (fast). Even if I have been training consistently, there are simply days when my body feels sluggish and those thoughts creep in. Just this week, I noticed pain from old injuries and a general feeling of fatigue in my running. I was meant to complete a long bike ride as part of my training plan. “I should be able to do this, I should be on track, I have to stick to this to progress!”. But I recognised this would be forcing my body to do something it was clearly telling me it did not want to do.

This is where the practice of self compassion and understanding to gently redirect my mind to a healthier view comes in. What am I trying to prove, and to who? Why am I pushing? Listen, listen, listen. My body is communicating and it is up to my agency to slow down and act with care and with intention. Be gentle and have grace, we’re undoing many years of external expectations telling us we should be acting in a certain way which have no right to do so.

Instead of doing this long ride I focussed on yoga, stretching, seeing friends and providing it with the rest it was asking for. I felt much better for it, both physically and mentally. It meant that it was even more capable when I eventually did the training block, and I was content that I had listened and cared intuitively instead of aggressively forcing.

This little mental diagram of fast versus slow has helped me to see my relationship with sports and creativity in a new light. It’s not all linear, not all black and white. It is a shifting paradigm which always comes back to being awake, attuned and intentional through all types of movement.

J. x

‘Fast and Slow do more than just describe a rate of change. They are shorthand for ways of being, or philosophies of life. Fast is busy, controlling, aggressive, hurried, analytical, stressed, superficial, impatient, active, quantity-over-quality. Slow is the opposite: calm, careful, receptive, still, intuitive, unhurried, patient, reflective, quality-over-quantity. It is about making real and meaningful connections - with people, culture, work, food, everything.’

―Carl Honoré, In Praise of Slow

These reflections on slowing down tie in with my role as a photographer and storyteller on Instagram, and more broadly how content is consumed in this space. I started my IG account sharing photographs of my experiences hiking in nature. I find myself so deeply connected to myself there, creatively and spiritually. Truly the purest essence of myself. Fast forward several years of sharing consistently and honing my craft, and I’ve found myself with a wonderfully beautiful community of like minded people.

But as Instagram has demanded more and more of my attention, I have been sucked into this fast paced superficiality. While of course I shouldn’t entirely blame Instagram or the current state of our attention economy here - my personality and hyper-independence plays a part in my constant need to be doing, growing and progressing (or wait, is that capitalism?). I can’t deny that the speed with which content is churned in this space makes my brain feel like it has acid poured over it. I can feel the chemical shift in my brain when I open the app. Our work in this space is ephemeral - photographs and stories are only given half a second of notice on our relentless search for dopamine.

Somewhere along the way, i’d lost sight of why I started this in the first place. I had lost the mindfulness and the creative connection to the Earth I love so much. My passion had been replaced with this pressure to fit into a mould of what I “should” be doing as a travel photographer.

Fundamentally, my soul has rejected the pressure of this fast paced content creation. Last year I creatively burned out. Somewhere along the way, i’d lost sight of why I started this in the first place. I had lost the mindfulness and the creative connection to the Earth I love so much. I did not want to touch a camera for months. I had no desire to connect. No desire to document. I could no longer find the joy in composing a scene. I no longer experienced the meditative flow state of colour grading.

My passion had been replaced with this pressure to fit into a mould of what I “should” be doing as a travel photographer. I felt I had to keep up with creative trends, get brand deals, somehow get paid to travel and then sell the experience. I get so many inboxes asking me to promote products that are not even relevant for free. Sometimes, a brand reaches out I actually do like - but they don’t have a budget. No, we won’t pay you for your services. No, we won’t pay you to reach this audience you have meticulously connected with for years. My timeline is full of ads, quick reels... surface level attention grabbing content. At my core, I know Instagram wants to take advantage of me because I have grown this audience. I don’t want to throw shade on creators and artists working and succeeding in this space - we exist in a capitalistic society and we have to play our roles in order to survive. It just fundamentally feels wrong in my soul, knowing that actually the one profiting here is not us - it’s the machine.

I started this journey as an intentional, meditative creative outlet and that developed into a space to connect and inspire others to find their creative souls in nature. To live a vibrant life outdoors and experience the absolute majesty that this Earth has to offer. But with all I just said, I have been finding it more and more difficult to slow down, show up and maintain the depth of community connections I had spent so long fostering.

Self compassion to enable creative reconnection

I knew in order to recover from my burnout, reconnect with this community and find my path, I needed to reconnect to my soul and creative spirit. I needed to approach myself and my current situation from a place of compassion. I could not show up with an empty cup.

This meant slowing down, brutally disconnecting, being present in my physical connections, tentatively dabbling in alternative creative activities and immersing myself in exploring both familiar and new landscapes to reignite my sense of adventure. But in all this, I needed to let go of any expectations of end results and sit in the process - this was key.

I travelled home to Australia and onwards to South Africa (my intention was to skip the Berlin winter, best decision ever) without any intention or expectations to create work for social media. It took me weeks, literally weeks, to let my nervous system switch off and be present with my family. To allow myself to sit in the cocoon of love and support that they offered. I threw myself into training for my first Olympic distance Triathlon - body movement has always given me mental space and reprieve. I spent countless hours in the pool, running and cycling. In this practice I was physically forced to be present. Slowing down there, being intentional with deepening my connections with my family, paved the way for the first steps to a deeper spiritual reconnection.

In South Africa I joined running communities, hiked for days offline with my best friends, explored new mountains and made beautiful connections more deeply than I ever had before in previous travels. Cape Town truly is a tremendously special place - the sense of community was the reason I wanted to come back after visiting for the first time in 2024. Spending a longer time in a single place while travelling, to truly slow down and explore, fed my soul and my spirit.

But how does this translate online?

I could feel my sense of self returning. My spirit feels alive when I am creating in nature, and my soul is glowing when I can share that with others. I know in my core that is my path. But I still felt a deep unease towards being online, only growing stronger as I returned to Berlin and this overwhelming city. I knew that my body was still resisting this path, but I could not figure out an alternative yet. It felt like Instagram was sucking me dry.

In my creative healing journey I had started to read a lot of long form essays, dive into longer form videos and change the way I was consuming content for myself. It felt like as I explored more, ideas and revelations were being unfolded for me for a new way to connect and share. It started with a newsletter subscription to Elizabeth Gilberts “Letters from Love” where I then deep dived into Substack (and honestly, got totally radicalised by Substack essays and how our addiction to information is cooking our brains) in combination with podcasts from Tim Ferris interviewing Crag Mod and Alie Ward’s Ologies podcast on Burnout.

My mind started firing, a clearer pathway being formed. Maybe, just maybe, there is another way! Maybe I can let go of this false idea of what I should be doing based on a fallacy perpetuated by social media expectations. I can slow down, I can share with intention, I can create without expectations, and perhaps I can find a place to connect on a smaller scale more deeply than I can on Instagram.

Things I fundamentally know I want to concentrate on moving forward:

• Creating without expectations (ie, enjoying the process)

• Exploring and connecting with nature in a more mindful way, sharing long form stories and photo essays

• Being unapologetically and vulnerably myself in my writing and approach here

• Connecting more deeply with my community, be it at a smaller scale

• Inspiring and educating my community to connect with their inner creative through our natural world

So here I am, finding myself writing a long form essay about creative burnout, spiritual reconnection and curating communities in an online space with no real expectations on where this will lead me.

Perhaps this develops into a newsletter for itineraries, photography tips, travel tips, or just even my own spiritual self discovery and development. I don’t really know. At the end of the day, I want to be able to connect and hope that some of my ramblings and creations move you.

“I want to live my life like a poem, not an Instagram post. I want to experience it, not consume it. I want to move through it slowly, not scroll through it in search for the next quick hit.” - Gideon Heugh (via The Green Chapel)

Where are we in such a rush to get to, anyway?

J. x

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