It’s been a while since I’ve typed words into a computer, scribbled sense into a note on my phone, or grabbed a pen and paper and jotted down all those thoughts that sometimes seem to flood my head and narrate what feels like someone else’s life.
I’ve missed sharing experiences more often, and I’m constantly imaginarily writing. I thought I’d be better last year, as I’ve finally been starting to feel like I have more strength of mind, but it’s was such a whirlwind of a year that, while it gave me a ton to write about, it has also meant that I was (unapologetically) out there living it — and forcing myself to slow down whenever I wasn’t sprinting down airport aisles.There was a turning point in deciding to write smaller things in the fancy journal app on my phone (Apple user for life!), and that moment was, without a doubt, Samburu. I think taking this Kenya trip into areas I didn’t know — but had been wanting to meet — investing in myself and my company, and taking a leap of faith took me to inward spaces I didn’t foresee.
You see, I was an agnostic for a long time. I remember the exact moment when I was about 12, when this sudden thought came into my head and I realized I couldn’t say with certainty that I believed in the traditional God my family believed in. I was terrified of these thoughts and didn’t dare share them with anyone because as a child, how do you vocalize all this?. Feeling like the odd one out has been a theme in my existence, especially within my family.
The turning point — realizing that there was a path to being “spiritual” that didn’t need to be tied to any religion — came from living life in the bush. Life as a guide showed me what we casually call “wilderness” is actually an intricate pathway of reasons, connections, choices, and attitudes that go far beyond what my inner scientist can explain with words like instinct, cortisol levels, and survival needs. I began to feel certain that there was more — but it would still take me a decade to better articulate what “more” felt like.
It took me 33 years — and the death of life as I knew it (the irony of the number is not lost on me) — to find a path and a spiritual belief system that actually works for me. While my life has shifted into the spiritual — not in the traditional sense, but in my sense — I’ve found an immense amount of peace. Could I be wrong in my beliefs? Absolutely. Do I lead a happier life with my current set of ideals? Without a doubt. I’ve chosen to believe in what can only be described as “energy,” for lack of a better word. A force that rules the Universe through the greatest thing of all: love. Such a complex force that shapes everything we do and how we perceive life, yet such a simple one too.
It was on a rainy March day in Kenya that these thoughts flooded my mind. I can’t help but share them as the search of for life through love (and not imbued in absolute rage or numbness) became the toughest lesson to learn. In a way it feels like Samburu marked the return of something that had been lost in me.
If you’ve heard of Samburu, chances are you’ve seen those striking photos of the warriors that look like Maasai (but they’re not Maasai, they’re Samburu) standing tall on top of the great rock — overlooking a vast, dry land that stretches endlessly beneath them. But it was on that very rock, with two Samburu men and a group of five women, that I experienced something incredibly personal. It was one of the most inward, reflective moments I’ve had in a long time that again had me tearing up in public like a lunatic. I have become the master of this but have also accepted my fate with a good dose of humor. After deep trauma, your body rewires; you become and think differently from who you were before that trauma — that’s just fact. But it was here, after years of trying to change the neuropathways of my brain through traditional therapy, alternative therapy, microdosing, sudoku, learning to meditate and you name it, that I felt came back to real me, the person that had been long lost.
During a spectacular stay at Sasaab, we were gazing out at a sunset that, by most standards, wasn’t particularly beautiful (the word dreadful seems to more appropriate). The sky was heavy with clouds, rain fell softly in the distance, and it was cold – truly my worst setting. Somewhere far off, hyenas whooped. And yet, in that stillness and that miserable weather, I turned around and saw just one little ray of sunshine breaking through the clouds, and was instantly overcome by the sheer magic, the raw presence, the soul of the place. Perhaps, it was love.
It was one of those moments that makes you feel silly for ever doubting that there’s something greater out there. I’ve never been able to define it — I’ve always struggled with the right words — but what I felt wasn’t about doctrines or beliefs. It was about connection. A deep, grounding connection to the land, to nature, to the animals, to this planet we call home — one that can only be felt, not described. Just earth, sky, rain, and an overwhelming sense of belonging brought on by whatever magical energy lives in Samburuland.
I was wrapped in a Shuka (the world’s greatest invention), hearing the pop of champagne corks nearby — my friends laughing and celebrating this extraordinary place — while I stood a little apart, teary-eyed and filled with gratitude. Gratitude for the chance to travel, to witness this kind of beauty, to step out of the ordinary and into something sacred and for coming back. Samburu was magic. A curtain of rain that quite literally moved me to tears.
Maybe that’s no coincidence. That I felt all this in this remote part of Kenya — as this is one of the most ancient landscapes on Earth, part of the Great Rift Valley, and considered the cradle of humankind. Some of the oldest hominid fossils ever discovered — including famed finds like Turkana Boy and ancient remains from the Omo and Lake Turkana regions — come from this land. Scientists believe that early humans evolved, walked, hunted, gathered, and learned to communicate in landscapes just like Samburu. Here you’re standing in a place that shaped us before we even had the language to name ourselves. A place where the first sparks of humanity flickered.
Maybe that’s why the energy felt different there. Maybe it’s geological. Maybe it’s ancestral. Maybe it’s something we don’t yet have a word for. But for me, there’s no doubt it’s real. And it caught me by surprise. Because I don’t typically feel energized by deserts or arid places — they often feel lifeless to me. But Samburu was different. It gave something back. It showed me the door to walk back from.
