The Moment That Changed My Perspective
In January 2017, my wife Rachel and I travelled to Kenya and stayed at a small safari camp deep inside the Maasai Mara. Reaching the camp was an experience in itself.
You begin in Nairobi, where most journeys into Kenya start. From there you board a small bush plane, the kind that carries only a handful of passengers, and fly low across the savannah. The landscape below stretches endlessly, punctuated by acacia trees and occasional wildlife moving slowly across the plains.
The plane eventually lands on a dirt airstrip that would barely register as an airport anywhere else in the world. Waiting beside the runway are a few safari vehicles. You climb in and drive across the reserve until you reach the river that separates the mainland from the island where our camp sat.
From there, the journey continues by boat. The same river were hippos and crocodiles frequent.
On the far side of the river lies Little Governors’ Camp, a place surrounded by wilderness. No roads, no buildings, no distractions; only grassland, wildlife, and the quiet rhythm of the natural world.
Hippos grunted in the water not far from camp. Warthogs wandered through the camp with their families. Occasionally an elephant would pass very close to the camp.
It felt remote in the best possible way… a place where the modern world simply faded away.
News from Home
While we were there, Rachel received the news that her father had passed away.
He was a remarkable man.
A lawyer by profession, he had immigrated to the UK from Pakistan as a young boy in the 1960s. I once asked him what his first memory of arriving in Britain was. His answer was simple: stepping off the plane and feeling how cold it was.
He built a life here, raised five daughters, and valued education deeply.
I remember a moment in 2008 when my own father said to him (referring about my wife-to-be), “You must be proud of your daughter becoming a doctor.”
His response stayed with me.
“I’m proud of all my daughters.”
It was a small sentence that said everything about the man.
I had known him for more than a decade. When I asked for Rachel’s hand in marriage, I put on a suit and tie to do it properly. He deserved that respect.
So when the news came through in the middle of the African savannah, the moment felt heavy.
There are few places where distance feels more profound than when you are thousands of miles from home.
A Quiet Gesture
The staff at the camp were aware of what had happened. Without fuss or ceremony, they quietly suggested that we might like to go out that evening to watch the sunset.
They arranged a small private outing.
A safari vehicle drove us out across the plains as the day softened into evening. Eventually we stopped at a quiet spot overlooking the vast open landscape.
A blanket was laid out. A simple picnic appeared. A bottle of champagne.
Just the two of us.
As the sun began to sink below the horizon, the sky shifted through deep golds and warm amber tones that only Africa seems capable of producing.
We sat there quietly.
Our eyes were still red from crying.
In the near distance hippos moved slowly through the water. Closer by, warthogs wandered through the grass, completely uninterested in our presence. In the far distance, lions stretched out, taking in the last heat from the sun.
Nature carried on as it always has.
It was an extraordinary moment.
Heavy, yes.
But also strangely peaceful.
The Perspective of Distance
In leadership, responsibility often brings a sense of permanent urgency.
Decisions must be made. Problems must be solved. Expectations must be met. The pressure to move quickly and constantly can become overwhelming, particularly for people operating in senior professional roles.
Yet moments like the one we experienced in the Maasai Mara offer something rare.
Perspective.
Researchers and leadership thinkers frequently highlight the importance of distance in decision-making and judgement. Stepping back, physically or mentally, allows leaders to see situations more clearly and avoid becoming trapped inside immediate pressures.
As the Harvard Business Review has noted, leaders who intentionally create space for reflection are often better able to maintain strategic clarity and emotional balance when facing complex decisions.¹
That evening in Kenya wasn’t a leadership exercise. It was simply life unfolding in an unexpected way.
But the effect was similar.
When you sit quietly in a place where the landscape stretches endlessly in every direction, the scale of things changes. Problems that once felt enormous begin to look smaller against the backdrop of something far older and far larger than ourselves.
The natural world has a way of recalibrating our sense of proportion.
The Quiet Value of Reflection
This idea is increasingly recognised in leadership research.
Studies suggest that leaders who pause to reflect, even briefly, improve their ability to process experience and make better decisions over time.²
Reflection allows individuals to integrate experience rather than simply move from one challenge to the next. It creates a moment where insight can emerge.
For professionals working in high-pressure environments, whether medicine, law, finance, or business leadership, those moments are often rare.
The modern professional world rewards speed and responsiveness. Reflection is often treated as a luxury rather than a necessity.
Yet many leadership thinkers argue the opposite.
Strategic clarity frequently emerges not from constant activity but from moments of distance and perspective.³
In a similar vein, research published in the British Medical Journal has explored how reflective practice improves clinical judgement and decision-making among senior doctors.⁴
The principle is broadly applicable: stepping back helps people think more clearly about what truly matters.
A Moment That Stayed
That evening in the Maasai Mara has stayed with me for many years.
Not because it provided a dramatic revelation, but because of its quiet simplicity.
A vast landscape.
A setting sun.
The presence of someone you love.
And the recognition that life, for all its complexity, is also fragile and temporary.
We are, in the grand scheme of things, very small participants in a much larger story.
That awareness does not diminish the importance of our work or our responsibilities. If anything, it strengthens it.
But it does remind us that perspective matters.
And sometimes perspective arrives not in the middle of noise and activity, but in the stillness of a quiet moment as the sun disappears over the savannah.
Have you ever lost someone close?
Further Reflections
If this theme resonates, you may also enjoy these reflections:
- The Leaf on the Path – a short lesson about awareness and perspective in unexpected places
- Taking Time Out – the paradox of rest in the middle of ambition
- The Mirage of Momentum – why constant activity can sometimes hide a lack of clarity
References
- Harvard Business Review (2014). Why You Should Make Time for Self-Reflection (Even If You Hate Doing It).
- Di Stefano, G., et al. (2016). Learning by Thinking: How Reflection Improves Performance. Harvard Business School.
- Goleman, D. (2013). The Focused Leader. Harvard Business Review.
- Sandars, J. (2009). The Use of Reflection in Medical Education. British Medical Journal.
- Financial Times (2020). Leadership Lessons from Stepping Back and Thinking Strategically.
- Forbes (2019). Why Reflection Is a Leadership Skill Too Many Executives Ignore.
I’m Laurence Loxam – I’ve pushed limits in business, on mountains, and at the finish line.
Now I help elite professionals do the same, pushing past the point most people stop.
I coach CEOs, doctors, lawyers, and founders who’ve hit success, but still feel there’s more.
Together, we unlock clarity, sharpen confidence, and lead with conviction.
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