Blog #29 - Reflections on Photography During Transition

What I’m Carrying With Me

Tomorrow we fly out as a family. (Note I'm not writing this the same day its published!)

On paper, it is just a short break away. A few nights, hand luggage only, the usual last-minute checks that always feel slightly chaotic no matter how many times you do them. But sitting here tonight, it does not feel like just a trip. It feels like a pause. A line between one stretch of life and whatever comes next.

The T-Level 'ward'

Leaving The Classroom Behind

I have just left my role at a local college, where I was teaching anatomy and physiology across Level 3 Health and Social Care and working alongside the T Level Health year two group. Over the past term, that work became far more meaningful than I expected. Not because it was easy or especially tidy or perfectly structured, but because the students were genuinely invested in where they were heading.

They were bright, curious, gobby, loud, opinionated, and very sure when they disagreed with you, all of it in the best possible way. They asked questions that went well beyond the syllabus. They challenged things. They wanted to understand the why, not just memorise enough to pass. Over the last few weeks, I watched many of them start to receive university offers for nursing, paramedic science, and related routes, and seeing that unfold felt like a real privilege.

What stayed with me just as much, though, were the students whose plans did not land the way they had hoped. The resilience in that group was impossible to miss. Instead of “that’s me done,” it was “that didn’t work, what about this instead.” They stayed behind after sessions to talk through options, to ask for honest opinions, to sketch out a Plan B and sometimes a Plan C. There was a quiet determination there, a refusal to give up even when things felt disappointing or uncertain.

Teaching anatomy and physiology sits in an unusual space. On one hand, the content is factual and unforgiving. Systems either work or they do not, and anatomy does not bend to opinion. On the other hand, the people learning it are future nurses, paramedics, and healthcare professionals who will one day be applying that knowledge under pressure. Watching students realise they are capable of carrying that responsibility is a powerful thing.

Leaving that environment was not simple. Teaching work you care about does not let go of you cleanly. You carry faces, conversations, and moments with you whether you want to or not. I did not realise quite how much of that I was holding until I stopped. Walking away brought a strange mix of relief, sadness, pride, and a quiet sense that the timing was right. There is rarely a single reason you leave a role like that. It is usually a collection of small truths lining up all at once.

This trip happens to sit right after that ending. Not as an escape from it, but as the first thing that comes next.

Photography During Transition

Over the past year, I have noticed that I reach for photography most often when things are shifting. Not because I am trying to document change for the sake of it, and not because I need proof that something happened, but because it gives me a way to slow moments down enough to really look at them.

Photography during transition gives me a way to slow things down and make sense of what is changing without trying to rush to conclusions.

That attention does not always produce good photographs. Most of the time it produces very ordinary ones. But the act of noticing, of deciding that something small is worth stopping for, helps me make sense of what is going on around me. It keeps me present rather than stuck in my head.

This is not a travel photography blog. It is not a gear breakdown, and it is not a story about chasing perfect light in a beautiful city. The place we are going to matters far less than the fact that we are going somewhere at all, together, right now.

One practical decision I have made for this trip is to leave the digital cameras at home. Other than my phone, everything I shoot will be on film. A mix of 35mm and 120. No rear screen. No checking. No instant reassurance. (see last weeks blog)

That choice was not about nostalgia or proving a point. It was about reducing noise. Fewer decisions. Less temptation to review, tweak, and repeat. Film removes that loop entirely. Once the shutter is pressed, the moment is gone. You either trusted your judgement or you did not.

That feels appropriate at the moment.

The prep for the trip!

Slowing the pace

One of the reasons shooting film feels right at the moment is that it matches the pace I am trying to move at. Digital photography is fast, responsive, and incredibly capable. I use it constantly and I rely on it all the time. But it carries an expectation of immediacy. Shoot, check, adjust, repeat.

Film strips that away.

When I load a roll, I know exactly how many frames I have. When they are gone, they are gone. There is no safety net and no instant feedback. That limitation changes how I see. I take longer before pressing the shutter. I think more carefully about what is actually worth photographing.

I do not need instant answers right now. I do not need to know exactly how everything will turn out before committing to it. Film allows uncertainty to exist without trying to resolve it straight away.

Leaving the digital camera behind feels symbolic, even if I did not intend it to be. It is a small act of letting go of control. Of accepting that not everything needs to be reviewed immediately.

Some things can wait.

Family comes first

This trip is a family Christmas trip first, full stop.

Photography fits around that, not the other way round. Shared meals, tired legs, wrong turns, getting lost, and small moments that only happen because we are all there together come before photographs. If the camera stays in the bag for a day, that is fine. If a roll comes back half empty, that is fine too.

That said, Bow is very excited about using “one of those old cameras that doesn’t have a screen on”. Watching her experience photography without instant playback has been a reminder of how natural curiosity can be when it is not filtered through expectation. She is not worried about whether something is good. She just wants to see what happens.

That feels like a decent approach to take right now.

Place as background, not subject

I am not particularly interested in photographing places the way they are expected to be photographed. Some of my favourite images from Portugal earlier this year were not of beaches or landmarks, but of graffiti, buskers, and people on the edges. Moments that felt specific to how we experienced being there rather than how the place is marketed.

That approach suits me far better.

I would rather come back with photographs that mean something to us than images that could have been taken by anyone. I am more drawn to small details, quiet corners, and moments that would be easy to walk past if you were rushing.

The location becomes a backdrop, not the subject.

Sneaky airport beer and snap of the workhorses for the weekend.

What stays constant

One of the steady things through all of this has been photography. Jobs change. Roles shift. Priorities move around. But the act of noticing, framing, and paying attention has stayed with me.

That consistency matters.

I do not have the next chapter fully mapped out, and I am more comfortable with that than I used to be. Alongside this transition, I am still working as an NHS paramedic. I am still teaching as a medical and trauma instructor. I am still running my own company. None of that disappears just because one role ends.

Life is not being reset. It is being rebalanced.

Photography sits alongside all of that, not as an identity, but as a practice. Something I can return to when my head gets noisy. Something that pulls me back into what is actually in front of me rather than what I think should be happening next.

Carrying things forward

As we head into this trip, I am carrying more than just cameras and film. I am carrying lessons from teaching. From students who reminded me that resilience often matters more than results. From moments where slowing down brought more clarity than pushing harder ever did.

I am carrying gratitude. For the trust those students placed in me. For the chance to be part of their journey, even briefly. For the reminder that progress does not always follow a straight line.

And I am carrying permission. Permission to pause without rushing to fill the gap. To walk, look carefully, and let things settle before deciding what needs to come next.

The photographs will take care of themselves. They always do.

What matters more is being attentive while I am there.

This blog is a quiet nod to my T-Level lot. You know who you are.