Let’s start with something brutally honest – because a big part of the work I do (and what I’ll be doing more of in this space) is built on one thing: transparency. The kind of uncomfortable, exposed, mildly regrettable truth that makes you go, “Did I just say that out loud?”
You know the line: “The truth will set you free.” Well, it will. After it kicks you in the face.
So here’s mine (albeit, not terribly dramatic): I freelance with the Up&Up Group, specifically at Connect, their media division. It’s fun, fast, and keeps me sharp while I build this other thing – this reinvention work – which tickles a part of my brain that hasn’t been properly scratched since I learned how to ride a bike downhill with no brakes.
Recently, thanks to that gig, I was invited on a trip by one of our suppliers, Rook Digital. A trip that can only be described as transformative – if you let it. A 3-night, unsupported walking safari in Big Five country. No cars. No phones. No toilets. No problem.
There were nine of us in total – only one I knew beforehand – and a very real chance of being eaten by a lion while taking a moonlit pee. The kind of trip with two of my favourite things: Adventure and Uncertainty. And let’s be honest – can you even call it an adventure if you’re 100% certain how it’s going to end?
And here’s the thing: that uncertainty? That’s where resilience grows. That’s the edge of your comfort zone – the bit where the magic (and the mild panic) happens.
I tried to explain this to my wife recently using food – because apparently all profound truths can be found in the pantry. Picture your resilience like a dinner plate. Most days, it’s absolutely jammed with braai meat – steak, ribs, wors, a rogue lamb chop – because you’re “just getting on with it.” Work, stress, the WhatsApp group that should’ve died in 2018, and so you go for the comfort.
The problem is: that plate is so overloaded, there’s no space for veg. None. Not even a rogue pea.
But here’s the thing: if you looked at that piece of steak – really looked at it – and realised it’s not even lekker anymore? If you chose to put it down? Now you’ve got space. Space for broccoli (yes, that’s self-care now), and maybe even a little potato. Hell, make it roast. Live a little. You didn’t grow your plate. You changed what you were using it for.
Out in the bush, we let go of a lot. We let go of porcelain thrones (hello, spade and dignity), running water (unless you count the river – and you shouldn’t), beds, phones, watches, privacy, and sleep (someone has to keep watch for hyenas at 2:00 a.m., and apparently, that someone is me).
And somewhere in that mess of dust, stars, and slightly questionable hygiene, something magical happened: clarity.
You miss your wife, but it’s a good missing. You feel tired, but it’s the kind of tired that means something. You’re staring at a hyena skulking past your camp, and instead of freaking out, you feel… weirdly calm. And alive. And slightly under-qualified to be alive. But alive nonetheless.
And that’s really the point.
You’ve got stuff on your plate that doesn’t belong there. You’re using your resilience to carry rubbish and not enough broccoli. Instagram likes. Outfit anxiety. The fact that your left AirPod always dies first. The crushing need to find the perfect parking spot. Your boss’s passive-aggressive Teams messages. That “friend” who turns every group chat into an emotional hostage situation.
Let them go. Or deal with them. Either way – throw something off the plate.
Because resilience isn’t about taking on more. It’s about creating space for what actually matters. And when you do? You’ll be amazed what fits in that gap.
Like growth.
Or peace.
Or maybe even a potato.
Watch the Journey
To really feel what we experienced, here’s the video of the trip – dust, hyenas, night watches and all.
Acknowledgments
Special thanks to:
John Butler, whose own story of transformation is an inspirational one.
Scott from Up&Up Connect, both a close friend and my boss, for giving the go-ahead.
Rob and Rod, our unbelievable guides who somehow kept us alive and laughing.
The whole Wilderness Leadership team for the extraordinary work they do and the opportunity they afford to those brave enough to take it on. You can find them here.
And finally—to Archie, Kyle, Trace, and Jason—thank you for being part of the journey. Wouldn’t have been the same without you.
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[…] myself I kept alive to make others comfortable, I was staggered by how much space opened up on my plate of resilience. It wasn’t that I needed more capacity. I needed fewer performance personas. The blog I wrote […]