Consistency has never come easily to me.
For as long as I can remember, I have struggled with starting things and sticking with them. School was hard for that reason. Procrastination has followed me for most of my life, and over the years I have had to be quite intentional about finding ways to work with that, rather than pretending it does not exist.
I have tried all sorts of things to help kick myself into gear. The Pomodoro technique has worked well for me. So has paying attention to basics like eating properly, drinking enough water, reducing distractions, and keeping the number of choices I have to make as small as possible. None of it is magic, but it all helps.
Because of that, running a business is something I am genuinely proud of. Not because it looks impressive from the outside, but because it requires a level of consistency and structure I have had to learn rather than take for granted. When it comes to working with people, planning trips, and delivering on commitments, that reliability matters to me and is something I take seriously.
I also think the COVID years played a part in all of this. Before that, being out regularly felt normal. I remember spending a lot of time with my old friend Steven Hanna on overnight adventures. Camping trips, astrophotography sessions, long nights along the Causeway Coast, exploring Donegal’s quieter corners, and road trips down to Dingle. Being out, often late, often tired, often chasing light or stars, was just part of life.
Once staying at home became the norm, it quietly rewired a lot of habits. Going out less felt justified, even sensible. For a long time, that was necessary. But getting back into the rhythm of leaving the house regularly, especially without a clear reason, has been harder than I expected. I am fairly sure this will be something we see properly documented in years to come.
My photography is where all of this shows up most clearly.
When there is no deadline, no client, and no immediate consequence, it is very easy for good intentions to stay as intentions. That became obvious when I looked back through my Lightroom catalogue recently.
2025 was my quietest year for photography in the last three years.
Not in terms of quality. I am not saying I took bad photographs. What changed was how often I actually got out. Compared to the previous three years, I had nearly 1000 fewer photos. That drop was not because I lost interest in landscape photography or suddenly forgot how to use a camera. I just did not show up as consistently as I would have liked.
Showing up more, not doing more
For 2026, the main thing I want to change is consistency.
One idea I keep coming back to is dedicating one day per week to photography with a single goal and that is to come home with one photograph.
Not a portfolio image. Not something for Instagram. Just one photograph that feels intentional.
If I manage that most weeks, by the end of the year that could mean an extra 52 photographs that simply would not have existed otherwise. More importantly, it means 52 days where I actually went out with a camera, slowed down, and paid attention.
Limiting the goal to one image takes the pressure off. You can spend more time observing, waiting, or walking away from scenes that do not feel right. Some days that one photo will be strong, some days it will not be. Either way, the habit still counts.
If you applied that idea to your own photography, what would one intentional photo per week look like for you?
Letting photography support a life outdoors
Alongside photography, I want to spend more time outdoors in general in 2026. Not just more days outside, but more intentional time exploring places I already know, and places I have been meaning to visit for years.
Over time, I have built up a notebook full of ideas. Specific photographs. Certain viewpoints. Locations I have driven past, walked past, or thought about repeatedly without ever quite committing to. Many of those ideas are close to home, which makes it even harder to justify not doing them.
This year, I want to change that. Rather than constantly looking for new places, I want to finally make time for the photographs I have already imagined. To revisit those notes, visit those locations, and give those ideas the attention they have quietly been waiting for.
Part of that comes down to being outside more consistently. I plan to do one hike per week. Not as a fitness goal, but as a way of building rhythm and familiarity with the landscape. Over a year, that is a lot of time spent walking, observing, and learning how places change through weather and season.
I also want to camp at least one night per month. Twelve nights does not sound like much, but it is twelve evenings and mornings where photography slows down and becomes less about chasing light and more about being present. Camping creates space for photographs to happen naturally, rather than being forced into a narrow window.
I would also like to do a few photo moto camping trips. I have had ideas for trips across to Scotland, up to the Outer Hebrides, and potentially further afield. In 2026, I am skipping the Isle of Man TT and using that time for a longer European trip instead. At the moment, Denmark or Spain are both on my mind, but the exact destination matters less than the experience itself.
Not every hike needs to produce a photograph. Not every camping trip needs to be productive. But every hour spent outdoors increases the chances of meaningful work happening over time.
Writing ideas down and letting them wait
At some point along the way, I started carrying a small notepad with me. Nothing structured. Just a place to write down ideas when they came up. A particular viewpoint. A way the light might work in certain conditions. A location I wanted to return to at a different time of year.
Most of those notes never turned into photographs, at least not straight away. But having them written down meant the ideas did not disappear. They stayed quietly in the background, waiting until the right moment.
Looking back now, a lot of the photographs I still want to make are already sitting in that notebook. They are not new ideas. They are unfinished ones.
If you find yourself constantly thinking about photographs you never quite get around to making, it might be worth writing them down somewhere. Not as a to do list, and not with any pressure attached. Just as a way of keeping those ideas alive until the time feels right.
Sometimes the hardest part is not coming up with ideas, but giving ourselves permission to return to them.
Making consistency easier with social media
Social media was something I really struggled with in 2025. Posting felt sporadic, forced, and often fell to the bottom of the list.
That is not new. I have written before about how social media algorithms subtly shape what we shoot, often without us even realising it, and how that can start to influence creative decisions in ways that are not always healthy. I have also shared why I am not overly active on social media in the first place, and those views have not changed.
I am still wary of how quickly photography can become about chasing engagement rather than chasing light. I am still uncomfortable with the pressure to photograph what performs well, rather than what feels meaningful. That pressure can be subtle, but over time it takes something away from the experience of being outdoors with a camera.
Part of the reason posting felt difficult in 2025 was that it felt disconnected from the act of photographing. It became another task to manage, another decision to make, rather than something that flowed naturally from the work itself. When I was not getting out as much, social media felt even heavier.
For 2026, I am not trying to post more for the sake of it, and I am certainly not trying to please algorithms. What I want is to remove friction.
By committing to one intentional photograph per week, sharing becomes a by-product rather than the goal. At a minimum, that gives me 52 photographs over the year that already exist, already mean something to me, and do not need to be shaped to fit a platform’s preferences.
Social media, for me, works best when it sits downstream of the work, not in front of it. When photographing comes first, sharing feels optional rather than obligatory, and that is a much healthier place for it to live.
If social media has felt draining for you, it might be worth asking whether the issue is the platforms themselves, or whether the process behind your posting feels disconnected from why you photograph in the first place.
Removing friction and making space for video
One practical change heading into 2026 is that I recently upgraded my laptop. My old machine struggled badly with video editing, especially anything involving 4K footage. Over time, that friction meant I avoided video altogether.
With the new laptop, that excuse is gone.
So yes, I want to make some videos for YouTube in 2026. Nothing overly polished and nothing designed to chase views. Just honest videos about being outdoors, photographing landscapes, hiking, camping, and learning as I go.
In many ways, video feels like an extension of everything else here. Showing up more, documenting the process, and worrying less about perfection.
A quieter, more present year ahead
2026, for me, is not about becoming a different photographer. It is about being a more present one.
More days outside. More consistency. More micro adventures. Fewer excuses. Fewer ideas left sitting in a notebook waiting for the right moment.
If I finish 2026 having spent more time outdoors, made photographs I have been thinking about for years, and shown up more often than I did in 2025, I will consider that a good year.
If 2025 felt quieter than you expected, you are not alone. Sometimes the answer is not to do more, but to show up a little more often.
