Rooted, I used to think.

Profile - Archive- RSS
Notes - Email - Diaryland

Lemon Tart - Tuesday, Feb. 01, 2022
January - Tuesday, Jan. 25, 2022
My Own Family - Wednesday, Jan. 19, 2022
Baja - Wednesday, Dec. 29, 2021
Teagan - Monday, Dec. 06, 2021

Friday, Dec. 03, 2021 @ 1:46 pm

I cycle over town to an appointment. A steady headwind pushes against me, and I tuck low against my handlebars to ease the effort. The ocean pushing up against the shore in rolling waves, the rhythmic roar rare for the protected harbour. Despite the chill in the air, I am hot with the effort, overdressed for the unexpected exertion.

Guiding my bike in a different direction, the headwind becomes an indiscernible boost. The wind that was loud in my ears, buffeting my coat, becomes silent. There is ease. I barely push against the pedals, and I glide along the paved pathway.

I lightly pedal and move along the waterfront. I realize that this is a metaphor for privilege. A physical metaphor? Maybe there’s another word. A lack of privilege is like a headwind - a constant struggle, a hand pushing you down, a whole lot of effort to just keep up with the rest of the world. And those with privilege? Life for them has a tailwind. They don’t notice because life is so easy, things come their way, and they glide through the world unaware of the struggles that others have to do the same exact task.

Often it is only when you experience a headwind that you take the time to consider that you may also have a tailwind.


I go in for my appointment. I’ve not met Tom before - only know him by reputation - and I immediately like him. I greet his dog. I can see Tom glancing at me, watching his dog interact with me. I am hot from cycling so take off my coat and bare my arms to allow myself to cool down.

We talk through my problem. He identifies the issues and proposes a solution.

In the course of conversation he says, “Well, you must know this from rock climbing. You are a climber, right?”

I pause. Squint at him. Do I know him from somewhere? “How do you know that I’m a climber?”

He reddens slightly. This is why I like him. He’s gentle and kind and sensitive and an expert in his trade.

“Well, the way that you are built… your body… you look like a really good climber.” He is uncomfortable and trying to be careful in what he is saying.

The conversation moves on from there, but his comment sticks with me.

I look like a climber.

This is likely one of the most flattering comments that a person could make to me about my appearance.

Roots | Shoots