Into the wind

It’s a Sunday morning. It’s early, say 8am. Say it’s February. You’re running along Brighton seafront. The sun’s coming up over the cliffs, shining weakly through the mist.

You’re out past Roedean, past the Marina, you’ve been going for 40 minutes and you’re doing… great. Your pace is right up there. In fact, you’re flying along. Distant landmarks just seem to get closer on their own. Everything’s effortless. You’re on fire. You’re an athlete. You’re amazing.

Sooner than you thought possible you arrive at the midpoint of your run (say it’s Ovingdean, or Rottingdean, or Saltdean, whatever). And you stop to catch a breath. And then you turn, to run the other way.

And then it hits you.

The wind.

The wind that’s been behind you the whole way.

Helping you fly along.
Helping the landmarks run towards you.
Helping everything feel effortless.

The wind you had no idea existed.

The wind that’s now full in your face.

You never notice the wind when it’s behind you. When everything just goes right. When you can do no wrong. When you get offered that payrise, win that pitch, ace that interview, nail that opinion piece.

What Black Lives Matter has reminded our industry is that so many of us have had the wind behind us all along. We’ve had it behind us since birth, through school and Uni, through grad schemes and interviews and promotions and awards and judging and panels and opinion pieces and so on and so on and on and on.

And what Extinction Rebellion has reminded us all is that we’ve had the wind behind us for most of the rest of our lives, in endless resources that we pretended would never run out, in cheap holidays and central heating and prawns flown in from Madagascar.

Now in 2020, we find it’s time to turn, and face the wind.

When you turn and face the wind, everything’s hard. Your hair whips your face, dust gets in your eyes, the sweat freezes on your body. You can’t run in a straight line without being blown off course. You grunt and swear. Your legs burn and your shoulders ache. Every landmark of the run back looks impossibly far away.

You don’t notice the wind when it’s behind you. But when you run into the wind, you notice everything. You feel everything. It hurts. But one of the things you feel is alive. Fully.

2020 feels like our moment to turn and face the wind. With it will come heartbreak and rage, lost jobs and lives, dancing on the steps and pulling down statues, moments when we achieved things we never thought we could and moments when it feels like we just can’t cope any more. We’ll run alongside those who’ve never had the wind behind them, and we’ll learn what that’s like.

Eventually you look up, and you see the Palace Pier, tiny in the distance, and you know you’ll get there — we all will. Eventually. And when we do, it’ll be by our own effort — in spite of the wind, not because of it.