s the year draws to a close, I find myself less inclined to measure it by achievements, milestones, or numbers, and more interested in how it felt to live and work my way through it.
It has been a year of movement, indeed. Decisions were made. Patients were cared for. Work was done with skill and intention. There were full days and long weeks, moments that asked a great deal, and others that quietly affirmed why this work matters. Yet beneath the visible busyness, something quieter was unfolding. A gradual remembering that not everything of value needs to be rushed, optimised, or endlessly documented to count.
There is a particular kind of wisdom that only reveals itself when we allow time to do its work.
So much of modern life urges us toward immediacy. Instant answers. Rapid change. Constant availability. We are rewarded for speed and responsiveness, for moving quickly from one thing to the next. And yet, the work we do every day gently resists that pull. It reminds me, again, that the most meaningful outcomes rarely obey urgency. Healing has its own rhythm. Trust grows slowly. Mastery is cumulative. The best decisions often arrive after patience, not pressure.
I recently came across a short piece of writing that expressed this truth beautifully. It reflected on how we once moved through life with fewer shortcuts, fewer accelerants, and more presence. It stayed with me not because it was nostalgic, but because it was honest. It offered a simple reminder that progress does not always mean faster.
Sometimes it simply means truer.
This perspective feels especially relevant as I reflect on our practice.
Every consultation, every procedure, every follow-up visit represents more than technical work alone. It is time given. Time offered attentively, deliberately, with care. There is no algorithm for reassurance. No shortcut for listening. No substitute for showing up consistently, even when the work is demanding and the days are full.
I am very aware that this work is never done alone.
Our practice exists because of a remarkable team across all our rooms, disciplines, and roles who bring steadiness, professionalism, kindness, humour, and resilience to their work every day. From patient coordination and administrative precision to clinical excellence, nursing care, and the many quiet acts that often go unseen but are always felt, this practice is held together by people who understand that good work is rarely hurried. That care is something you practise, not just provide. I am deeply grateful to each member of my team and for the way they show up day after day.
As we look ahead to 2026, we have chosen a guiding theme that reflects both where we are and how we intend to work:
Stillness, Skill, and the Long View
Stillness — the discipline of pausing, listening, and thinking before acting.
Skill — earned through repetition, experience, and respect for complexity.
The long view — an understanding that what matters most unfolds over time.
This is not a rejection of progress, nor a retreat from excellence. It is a commitment to doing things correctly. To value precision over speed. To allow space for judgment, recovery, and growth. It is an affirmation that urgency is not the same as importance, and that excellence does not need haste to justify itself.
In a world that often confuses noise with relevance, we choose clarity. In a culture that rewards speed, we choose steadiness. In work that carries real responsibility and consequence, we choose outcomes that will still stand the test of time.
As the year ends, I hope that each of you finds moments of rest, reflection, and renewal. Not because you have earned them through exhaustion, but because they are essential to continuing well, and to sustaining the kind of care we believe in.
As we step into the year ahead, may we allow ourselves the quiet confidence of those who are not in a hurry to become something else. May we trust the value of stillness, the pause that precedes good judgment. May we honour skill not as performance, but as something refined over time, through care, repetition, and restraint. And may we hold the long view gently, remembering that the most meaningful work, in bodies, in lives, and in relationships, unfolds gradually, and is strengthened, not diminished, by patience.
