When Control Slips Away: Lessons from the Desert

The desert has always held a deep fascination for me.

For my 21st birthday, instead of a typical Western-style party with alcohol initiations, I chose to celebrate in the Namib Desert, known as one of the world’s oldest deserts. I was drawn to Sossusvlei, nestled among some of the tallest red dunes on Earth. At the time, I didn’t fully understand why I was so captivated by this place, but ever since, that quiet fascination has continued to call me back.

I feel it now as this place of transformation, a landscape of dissolution and rebirth. There’s something almost unreal about it: a barren expanse where life feels harsh and unforgiving, yet beneath its surface lies an ancient memory, a vastness that holds space for the imagination to come alive.

The landscape outside of my accommodation on my 21st birthday, 2010

In the desert’s great silence, I feel a quiet invitation to surrender, to release the labels we carry. And when the environment feels safe, surrounded by security, community, and comfort, the desert opens as a wide canvas where dreams can unfold freely, and barriers begin to fall away. It’s a landscape that isn’t solid ground beneath your feet; rather, it envelops you, shifting and changing with every moment…

Fourteen years later, the desert found me once more, this time, not in a distant land, but here in New Zealand. I faced it in my own Oasis photoshoot that stirred something deep within me, and before it ended, I was overcome with tears.

I thought the whole thing fell through.. everything was simply out of my control. We were limited on time before the sun set, the wind was intense, sand in my eyes, I didn’t know if the ‘vision’ was there. I felt like I wasn’t in the moment, when I was trying to have my moment of expression.

That day, I wasn’t meant to have control. I’m so used to directing every detail, placing garments just so, seeing the whole scene clearly. But the environment wouldn’t allow that. It was my biggest teacher. It wouldn’t let me see the larger picture until later; so instead during the shoot I had to feel my way, come back to myself, and trust the process.

Looking at the images now, I can say these are the best photos I’ve ever received.

The desert taught me that transformation isn’t always comfortable.

I must say a huge thanks to my partner for holding space through all the chaos, the unpredictable environment, my shifting expectations, and my own direction (or sometimes lack thereof)

I now see the rawness, the beauty, the truth of that moment. The imperfections that felt overwhelming at the time have softened and faded. What remains is a true reflection of that vulnerable, powerful time of letting go, of being seen in my moments of chaos.

Sometimes surrendering control is where the real magic happens. And in that letting go, I found a deeper connection to the moment — raw and true.