Why so quiet?

Something strange happened at the end of 2022. The whole year, in fact the many years previous to that as well, I had been excitedly motivated to take photos, and make videos, and write about things.

Then, almost like the flip of a switch that motivation stopped.

My camera seemed like a burden. The thought of making a video felt laborious instead of engaging and exciting. Almost immediately my Instagram feed ground to a halt.

I couldn’t understand this, nor did I feel much motivation to push through it and just keep trying. I think I just needed a break.

In some ways it felt to me like I had taken a picture of everything I could within my day to day world: The airplane. The airplane with people. The villages we fly to. The airstrips. And so on. My photographer eye was seeing less and less ‘new’ stuff, and was feeling strained with trying to make the normal stuff look different.

Likewise with the videos I had enjoyed making. This was a pandemic project that I really enjoyed and had a lot of fun with. But it’s a lot of work, and once I had filmed footage from the majority of our airstrips, once again I wasn’t seeing much that would warrant more content.

I think there may be a tendency in our modern world to create for the sake of it. Data is unlimited. Space to publish is unlimited. And the tendency for creative arts is to throw everything at the wall and see what sticks.

I think I prefer a more limited, minimalist approach. Things should be created because they are bursting from your brain and need to be in the world. Some people are gifted with having a lot bursting from their creative minds. Others are slower, but no less inspiring.

In a similar way to all of this, I need to be honest and tell you that the last few times I’ve seen a reminder to send out a newsletter, I’ve snoozed it. Not for lack of appreciation for people wanting to know how and what we are doing, or for the support we get, but literally just because I haven’t known what to write.

The thing is, in the first few years working in the field we are in, there is a lot of new and interesting stuff to share. The first flight I did, or the time I had crazy weather and a medical patient on board. Or what life in rural Lesotho is like with a toddler (thinking back to 2016). There’s a lot to share. Most of it funny, interesting or thought provoking. But after 7 years, it feels harder to find those kinds of things to share. Not because they have stopped happening, but because we can’t think of another way to ‘frame this picture and make it still interesting to look at,’ to continue my photo analogy.

I also know that people don’t expect to be wow’d every time we send out a newsletter. Sometimes maybe you just wanna know that everything is good and that we are doing well. I know that. But I pressure myself into wanting it to be worthy of a national newspaper column.

Think of this post, then, as a picture of us standing on a mountain in Lesotho, with an airplane behind. You have seen it before. Nothing looks too different. Except that the photo is recent, Jane is taller, and we look a little older and wiser.

Here we go again

Happy New Year, 2022!

Just after writing that sentence, I feel I need to also write this: “Here we go again, huh?”

You don’t need to hear from me how, almost 2 years since Covid became our new reality, we seem to just keep slipping back to where we were, with no end in sight.

It’s easy for us all to wake up in January and realize that we are just doing the same things again: Going about our daily lives, getting kids to school, going to work, or whatever else.

While that can seem overwhelming, I want to look at those words from a different perspective.

It is the slow, determined consistency that creates lasting results. Sometimes that slow consistency seems tedious, like we are simply treading water day in and day out. And we’d prefer immediate results — clear indications that we are making significant progress. But when it comes to making positive changes in the world, it’s the brutal consistency that will do it.

I reflect on that in our work in Lesotho. Being involved in development and relief work, as we are with PCC and MAF, forces us to realize that true results come with time and consistency.

We have started to see some examples of this in the children and staff at Pulane Children’s Centre. The Centre has been open 13 years, and every year that passes we see how the committed love and security provided by the staff and community at PCC rubs off on the children. We are often joyfully surprised at the good choices children are making, and even their willingness to engage in hard conversations after making poor choices. Our staff continue to gain confidence and ownership of their roles. There are few things that delight Emily more than hearing our managers say, “We’ve been discussing this situation and have an idea we want to try.”

When it comes to the support MAF provides through aviation, we also get glimpses of how important consistency is. It’s no good being safe one day, and throwing that all out the window the next. Day after day we have to make sure we are consistently safe, effective, and providing the best service we can to support the healthcare system in the mountains. Helping one person, or one community, at a time and doing it again the next day with the same focus and determination.

It’s tempting to only write stories when we have big, interesting events that happen: Life saving flights, PCC children getting top marks in their classes at school, or new and exciting projects. But the reality is that the most effective work is done in the day to day consistency. That’s what makes the difference.

So as we all step into this new year, join me in refreshing our determination to be consistent.

Consistently keeping ourselves and our families as safe as we can from Covid.

Consistently being patient and seeking understanding in the midst of disagreements.

Consistently working for good in our communities.