Wildlife Beyond the Lens

The Cold Truth About Perception, Friendship, and Instant Regret in a Mug

It’s a crisp 4 degrees this morning in Moorreesburg, Western Cape. The sort of temperature that makes you question your life choices, but also gives you a false sense of productivity. I’m here, soaking up some rare quality time with loved ones before safari season kicks into full, chaotic swing.

This past weekend was spent in Cape Town. Saturday morning found us at the V&A Waterfront so early it felt like we’d broken into the city before the humans woke up. The eerie emptiness? Pure magic. The reason? Dropping someone off at the Women’s Day marathon near the Parliament building.

With hours to kill, we wandered to Starbucks where I, in a moment of questionable decision-making, redeemed one of those ill-fated “R50 off if you spend R75” vouchers. You know—spending money to save money while pretending you’re being sensible. My partner studied, I edited photos, and together we “sensibly wasted time.”

The V&A Waterfront seemingly humanless.

Perception — or, How to Be the Villain Without Even Trying

There’s a certain ritual to my workday when I’m not in the bush tripping over warthog burrows or trying to get a camera to focus on something that refuses to sit still. It’s called “Admin.” And yes, it deserves capitalisation because it’s a proper noun in my life — as much an entity as the lions I photograph or the lodges I market.

Let me explain.

Today’s admin session is the full buffet: Instagram, Facebook, YouTube, Booking.com — all the places people go to either gush about you or declare, in a passive-aggressive one-star review, that your existence has personally ruined their week. I also conduct my ritualistic competitor scoping — part curiosity, part masochism — and read reviews like an anthropologist trying to decode the mating calls of a distant tribe.

And it’s in these moments, somewhere between “guest loved the view but hated the weather” (yes, Karen, I’ll try to move the clouds next time) and “your leopard sightings are fake because I didn’t see one,” that I find myself circling back to a favourite topic: perception.

Perception is like a bad GPS — it can take you somewhere uplifting, ground you in reality, send you into dangerous territory, or drive you straight into a swamp while insisting, “You have arrived at your destination.” It’s one of those slippery, maddening forces of human life that can make you look like a hero in one person’s eyes and an utter moron in another’s, all without you changing a single thing.

One of my favourite mantras — which I’m convinced should be printed on motivational posters next to a picture of a smug cat — is this:

“Confidence without self-awareness is arrogance.
Self-awareness without confidence is paralysis.”

The magic trick, of course, is to walk that razor-thin line between the two without losing a limb, your friends, or your sanity. It’s basically like tightrope-walking over a pit of crocodiles who are all wearing t-shirts with your name on them.

How do you measure where you are on that line? Well, you could read “12 Steps to Self-Actualisation” by some self-help guru who charges $999 for a weekend seminar and can’t keep a cactus alive… or you can do the hard thing: ask people you trust for honest feedback.

Now, this is where most people flinch, because feedback is basically a mirror that tells you you’ve been walking around all day with spinach in your teeth. But I make a point of having regular chats with friends and loved ones about how I come across. Not because I enjoy self-flagellation, but because I’d rather someone tell me I’m “a bit much” than secretly loathe me while smiling through clenched teeth.

And here’s the thing: I know I’m bossy. I’m a bushbaby on a triple espresso — rapid, hyper, and a touch unpredictable. I take immediate action, which for some people is inspiring and for others is like being hit in the face with a bucket of ice water. Exhausting? Probably. Useful? Absolutely.

But — and here’s where it gets deliciously awkward — perception doesn’t give a toss about your intentions. You can think you’re being helpful, considerate, and efficient, and still end up in someone else’s mental filing cabinet under “Self-Centred, Probably a Villain.”

Case in point: this week, someone posted a heartfelt reflection online. Lovely stuff. And it reminded me there are two sides to perception: how you see yourself and how others see you. Neither is necessarily wrong — but without self-awareness, confidence looks like arrogance. Without confidence, self-awareness just leaves you standing there paralysed, like a rabbit in the middle of the N4.

I’ve been called arrogant, self-centred, and egotistical before — by someone who claimed to have “moved the world” for me, apparently without ever receiving a thank-you. According to them, I turned my back.

Here’s my perception of the same story: I did say thank you. I invited them over. I checked in, just not obsessively — in fact, if we’re counting, less than 100 WhatsApps over three years, which in my books is barely a friendship. This whole saga started with a false assumption of interest, involved one lion sighting and a minor disagreement I was not even aware of, and ended with them unfollowing me on everything — did I notice? No. I was busy working and building a life — . No discussion. No confrontation. Just poof. Yet somehow… I’m the problem.

Now, friendship, in theory, is a two-way street. In practice, it’s sometimes a narrow dirt track with potholes, a broken bridge, and a sign that says “Beware of Jealousy.” And yes, in this case, jealousy — as they themselves admitted — was involved. Apparently, when I work on myself, give credit to others, and celebrate their wins, that’s not considered supportive; it’s “egotistical.”

Egotistical… for doing things for other people. Make it make sense. That’s like accusing a fireman of arrogance for putting out your house fire without first asking your permission.

For the record, I’d have reached out eventually. I don’t believe in anyone feeling isolated or unwelcome. Everyone deserves happiness, joy, and purpose — yes, even people who have decided you’re the villain in their life’s soap opera.

But here’s the beauty of perception: the very act of me writing this, of clarifying my side, of even daring to say, “I’m not the bad guy here,” will be seen by someone as more arrogance. Because once perception has locked you into a role, your lines are already written. You can ad-lib all you want, but the audience still thinks you’re the moustache-twirling antagonist in Act Two.

So, where does that leave us? Well, I could sugarcoat this with a neat little “moral of the story,” but frankly, perception is a messy, flawed thing. You can’t control it, you can only influence it — and sometimes, even that’s like trying to herd hippos with a stick. People will decide what they think about you based not only on what you do, but also on what they’ve decided you meant when you did it.

And if you dare to be confident while self-aware, you might just manage to navigate that narrow strip of land between arrogance and paralysis. Or you might, inevitably, trip over into one side or the other. But at least if you do, you’ll know you were walking the line, and with who you walked it — and not sitting paralysed in the middle of it wondering why the crocodiles are getting closer.

Anyway, enough psychoanalysis for one morning. Time to finish my admin and pour another cup of instant regret.

Catch you in the next one—where I’ll be back in the Pilanesberg serving up some actual safari magic instead of philosophical coffee rants.