Braking not Swerving

Coming up to a year into my two year Clore Fellowship sponsored by the UK Film Council and Skillset. 

 

Where am I?  How are my original hopes and plans turning out?  What differences am I noticing?  How is it changing my thoughts and approaches?

 

When I began all this I wanted to understand better the sort of leader that I am.  I felt at the time that this was different to understanding what kind of person I am.  Now I am not so sure.

 

I had thought my ‘style’ was energetic and inspirational; I now start to see it as relentless, driven, challenging and confrontational.  I want to change everything, to right wrongs and better balance the imperfect world.  I will harness whoever I can persuade to join me on the impossible journey and drive them and myself into the ground along the way.

 

Pertinently, two months ago I was deftly tripped up by glandular fever.  I thought I had a bit of a cold, so resorted to my normal cure, a thirty mile cycle ride up the biggest hills to thrash the cold virus into submission, it normally works…..Four hours later I thought it had turned to flu and retired to bed, I didn’t get up for a week.

 

Cycling hard without suitable sustenance can significantly reduce the functionality of your immune system.  This was the chink in the armour that the virus needed to take me down. 

 

Months of combining work on the Clore Fellowship with my full time job trying to build a creative media sector in the North East had taken its toll.  My usual approach of utilising every ounce of energy immediately to drive forward and encourage others to do the same had left me with nothing in the bank, no reserves of energy, will, resilience or sanity.  By body gave up on me and keeled over.

 

I had glandular fever when I was a teenager, and I firmly believe it has remained with me, waiting for its moment.  Waiting for when the stress was at its highest and resilience at its lowest.

 

So why is my reaction to stress to work harder, why do I feel I have to juggle tens times more balls than anyone else, why am I never satisfied with the progress achieved, why do I never give up, why do I become intent on achieving the impossible, why do I have to win or fall over trying, what good does it do, what function does it serve, what kind of leader does that attitude make me……?

 

It makes me to sort of leader who is good at start ups, good at tough projects, good at taking things on that others would rather not touch, someone who relishes a challenging big picture. 

 

All this was fine ten years ago when I had to energy and was doing those sorts of jobs.  Now I need a different type of energy and focus.  I need an approach that is not about winning but about progress I need to use my confrontational energy to create improvement not victory.  I need to develop a different kind of strength and resilience that comes not from the sports fields but from a clearer understanding of my role and contribution as a leader.

 

I am half way there.

 

I have always loved cycling.  The romantic French phrases, peloton, echelon, the stylish Italian cycling jerseys, but above all because it always seemed to me to be about radical endurance, an against all odds struggle up impossible hills, into freezing headwinds, a lone rider out at the front pushing beyond pain to stay ahead, all too often being tragically overtaken in the last few kilometres, the hero of the race if not the winner.

 

I now see that lone rider as what he is, a hothead or a sacrificial lamb, one of the worker bees sent out to up the pace and break the peloton to allow his team leader to come through and win.  Or a young rider, so full of excitement and energy that he uses it all at once, leaving nothing in reserve.  I never realised cycling had teams until now.  I thought it was every man for himself, riding fast and hard for as long as possible.

 

Actually, the peleton has to work together, each rider taking turns to ride in front and allow others to ride in his wake out of the wind resistance thereby saving energy.  A lone rider has little chance of out running a group of riders working together.

 

There often appears to be no leader of the peloton, like a flock of brightly coloured starlings, they glide along almost on top of each other, wheel to wheel, elbow to elbow, gently shifting as one, conserving energy and gradually reeling in the breakaway riders.

 

Down terrifyingly steep descents each rider checks the speed and course of the rider in front, imperceptibly adjusting their pace and line to a faster, safer approach.  The lone rider ahead has no one to copy, no one to judge his line by, and no one to help with decisions, he just has to risk all, in the isolated, headlong rush down the mountain, hoping to stay ahead and hoping to stay upright all the way to the bottom.

 

So that was me.  The lone rider.  The one who used all his energy in an attempt to stay ahead of the crowd, never realising the inevitability that I would in the end be caught or crash, painfully, in the vain attempt to stay first.

 

I have always felt that I would rather crash trying to win than to resign myself to coming in with the pack.

 

I have always felt that to push to the point beyond exhaustion was the only way to win, that to lead from the front was the only way to finish first.

 

I have learnt that that is not always true.

 

It is not always about having the most energy it is about using your energy at the right moment and sometimes not using it at all.  It is about staying in the pack, forming the partnerships, helping others to achieve so that they will help you.

 

Sometimes the meandering road alongside the river reaches the destination before the sharp, breathless climb over the hill, boring but true.

 

I have spent the last seven weeks, staring blankly at the garden or the ceiling of the bedroom, with no energy and little enthusiasm for anything.  I have been denied my weapons, my drive has deserted me, my power has gone, my potency has disappeared. But out of it comes a chink of light, a sense that I am still here despite losing my life force.  A sense that I can perhaps achieve things without using force of will to push so hard that no one has the power to resist.

 

So what of the Clore programme has helped me to this half way point?

 

The gorgeous mix of past and present Clore fellows, diverse, different, supportive, lively and endlessly interested in progress.

 

Caroline Sami and her team, from whom I learnt the fundamental strength of being myself.

 

A ‘life coach’, actually more like a therapist, who tirelessly reflects on the pointless way I worry about everything and treat it all as a race that I must win or die.

 

The lovely people from Olivier Mythodrama who taught me how to slow down, focus my passion, speak at a speed my brain can keep up with, and to breathe …… properly.

 

My mentors, who are showing me how much easier it is to create change with partnerships not power.

 

Finally, my illness, which has taught me the perils of zooming blindly along, swerving increasingly wildly to avoid accidents, until eventually, going too fast to stop, I swerve off the road altogether.  Much better to gently brake, avoid the accident, and keep the steady course.

 

I am looking forward to the second half of my fellowship.  I hope it will surprise me as much as the first half.

 

As I write this I am looking out of our French windows at the cherry tree in blossom. A beautiful peacock has just walked across the lawn. Where on earth did that come from…..

Comments

[tomharvey]

Thanks Annie,

The Giro D'Italia has been on while I've been ill. Perfect sick bed viewing - 4 hours of relative calm then a hectic minute of sprinting. Brit Mark Cavendish won two stages and could have won three but gave it too his team mate on the line - remarkable comradeship. Alberto Contrador won, same guy who won the last Tour, brilliant effort by Danielo DeLuca who won Giro last year but burnt himself out on the penulitimate stage....brave effort.

Vital to ride with ones head for as long as possible and not ones heart too often!

Brit Tom Simpson died trying to defend the yellow jersey up a famous Tour hill. As he lay dying at the side of the road, his heart burst with amphetimines and effort, his last words to his mechanic were apparantly 'get me back on the bloody bike!'

[Annie Rigby]

Hi Tom,

No wonder you never got back in touch about that pint! We can call it an orange juice instead and find a time to catch up now you’re getting back on your feet!

I think what you’ve written here is beautiful, although I’m sad to hear that you’ve been so ill. I’ve always loved the Tour de France, and am going to continue with the cycling analogy.

I got into watching cycling when I was a teenager, and my favourite competition within the Tour has always been the King of the Mountains. I still find it amazing to watch the moment when the mountain riders hit the uphill stretches. That challenge which slows everyone down is the moment where they find an extraordinary speed and strength to pull away from the crowd. It’s no wonder it’s so seductive to watch.

Il Pirata, Marco Pantani was always my hero. Looking back now, after his death, he makes a pretty tragic hero. He sacrificed himself to his sport, and could obviously find nothing that satisfied him after his cycling career ended. But I still admire him – his wildness, his superhuman strength (even knowing EPO had a part to play) and his commitment.

No matter how much we learn about collaborative leadership, and how much we subscribe to it, there’s still something seductive about being that lone rider. But you’re right. The lone rider is only out at the front because he’s had the chance to save his energy while other members of his team protect him from the wind.

Keep yourself in the slipstream a while longer, and get properly better.

I look forward to catching up soon. And of course, it’s only a few weeks until the
Tour kicks off again!

Annie x