Things That Seem Like a Good Idea During a Photo Shoot

There are certain sentences you never imagine saying in your life.

Sentences such as:

“Could you just do Wild Thing on the piano?”

Or:

“The light is better over there.”

Or, my personal favourite:

“Just carefully climb onto the musical instrument and fling your heart open towards the heavens.”

And yet, there I was.

In my 50s.

On a piano.

Doing Wild Thing.

As you do.

For anyone unfamiliar with yoga, Wild Thing is a beautiful, expansive heart-opening pose. On a yoga mat, it can feel joyful, freeing and powerful.

On a piano, it feels slightly more like you are one poor decision away from becoming a cautionary tale in a health and safety training video.

But why was I doing yoga on a piano?

Because the light was better there.

And apparently, when you are in a photo shoot, this is all the explanation anyone needs.

Normal life logic:“Is the piano designed to be stood on?”

Photo shoot logic:“The light is nice.”

Normal life logic:“Is this structurally sound?”

Photo shoot logic:“Can you arch a little more?”

Normal life logic:“This seems unnecessary.”

Photo shoot logic:“Perfect. Hold it. Gorgeous. Don’t breathe.”

Now, I should say, photo shoots are deeply glamorous from the outside.

From the inside, they are mostly a series of increasingly strange instructions while you try to look serene, confident and effortlessly radiant, despite the fact that your inner monologue sounds like this:

“Where is my foot?”“Is my face doing something weird?”“Why do I suddenly have no idea what to do with my hands?”“Can everyone tell I’m holding my breath?”“Is this art or have we all lost our minds?”

There is also a very specific type of yoga teacher panic that happens when someone says, “Just relax.”

Relax?

I am balancing dramatically on furniture, trying not to dent a piano, fall off a piano, offend the piano, or become fused permanently to the piano.

But yes, absolutely. Very relaxed.

The funny thing is, in the moment, these ideas really do make sense.

“Could we use the piano?”Yes.

“Could you do Wild Thing on it?”Obviously.

“Why?”Because the light is better there.

And honestly, that is the entire creative industry summed up in one sentence.

Somewhere between the posing, laughing, mild terror and wondering whether my insurance covered “yoga-related piano incident,” something magical happened.

I stopped overthinking it.

I stopped worrying whether I looked perfect.

I stopped wondering whether it was sensible.

And I just enjoyed the ridiculousness of it.

Because life does not hand you many opportunities to say, “Oh yes, that was the day I did Wild Thing on a piano for a magazine photo shoot.”

And in my 50s, after years of burnout, fibromyalgia, grief, rebuilding my health, starting again, writing books, opening a studio and learning to trust my body again, there was something beautifully symbolic about it.

Not the piano specifically.

I am not suggesting everyone heals their nervous system by climbing onto musical instruments.

Please do not go into your nearest hotel lobby and tell them I sent you.

But the feeling behind it mattered.

The playfulness.

The willingness to be seen.

The courage to do something a bit mad.

The reminder that healing is not just about rest, recovery and regulation.

It is also about joy.

It is about rediscovering the parts of yourself that got buried under survival mode.

It is about remembering that your body can be expressive, strong, funny, strange, alive and free.

It is about allowing yourself to take up space — even if that space happens to be on top of a piano because apparently the light is better there.

So yes, photo shoots are glamorous.

But they are also ridiculous.

They are lights, laughter, awkward angles, unexpected furniture, heroic amounts of dry shampoo, and someone calmly suggesting you do advanced yoga on objects that were never mentioned in your teacher training.

And I loved it.

Because sometimes the most wonderful moments in life are not the polished, perfect ones.

Sometimes they are the ones where you find yourself halfway into Wild Thing, balanced on a piano, laughing internally and thinking:

“Well, this is certainly not how I expected my 50s to look.”

And honestly?