The Ordinary Moments Matter Most
There are moments in life that look important because they are easy to photograph: a wedding day, a promotion, a crisis successfully navigated, a big decision made under pressure. But looking back, I’m increasingly convinced that the moments that matter most are usually the ones nobody notices.
My husband and I recently celebrated our 31st wedding anniversary. It was a memorable day: A military wedding, a guard of honour, bagpipes and a ceilidh, but the wedding itself probably isn’t the most important day of the last thirty-one years.
What built our life together was everything that came afterwards. The thousands of ordinary decisions: showing up when you’re tired, having the difficult conversation before it becomes impossible, admitting when you’ve got it wrong, taking your turn to carry the load and finding something to laugh about when life inevitably fires the muckspreader in your general direction.
It made me think about trust in leadership.
When I was flying, people remembered the big moments: diversions, emergencies and the occasions when things didn’t go according to plan. But the trust required in those moments wasn’t built during the emergency. It was built during all the ordinary flights beforehand.
The briefing still happened when everyone already knew it. The checklist still got read. And a First Officer knew they could say, “I’m not happy with this,” and know they would be listened to.
“By the time you need trust, you’re no longer building it. You’re spending it.”
I think organisations sometimes focus too heavily on preparing leaders for the big moments, while overlooking the ordinary days that determine how people will respond when pressure arrives.
And this month has given me another, much more personal reminder of why those human connections matter.
I lost my younger brother Andrew. He was 51, and while he overcame more challenges than most people will ever face, what I will remember most isn’t simply what he achieved. It’s his humour, his kindness, his love for his family and the way he made people feel.
Grief and ordinary life, I’ve discovered, are perfectly capable of occupying the same space. You can be deeply sad and still laugh, answer an email, have a conversation about work and genuinely enjoy it. Neither diminishes the other.
We don’t leave our lives at the door when we come to work.
The people around us are carrying things we may never see, just as we are. Being human and being capable aren’t opposites. I think that’s what grounded leadership really means: creating the trust, connection and stability that allow people to remain human while still doing their best work.
The big moments matter. But it’s the small decisions we make every day that prepare us for them.