Waiting For The Break In The Storm

"I'm tired. I thought I just needed a night's sleep but it's more than that." Inside Llewyn Davis

There’s a cloud hanging over many in our creative communities right now; a heavy one.

Spend a day talking to people in media, in marketing and advertising, in design, in hospitality, and you’ll hear it—exhaustion. And not just your typical year-end burnout. This is exhaustion tinged with anxiety, a stubborn restlessness that feels very specific to this moment.

Why?

It’s easy to point to some of the usual suspects: the pandemic and its still-resonating shockwaves; the ever-present shadow of artificial intelligence (either a bogeyman or a golden goose, depending on the hour and who you’re talking to); climate change; regional and International geopolitical troubles; the relentless cost-of-living crisis and an economy that’s more skittish than ever before. Sprinkle in this year’s rounds (and rounds) of layoffs in media and entertainment, tech, and advertising, and you have the recipe for a generation that isn't just tired—they’re holding their breath.

We’ve all heard the saying: “Just survive until ’25.” Someone told me recently, only half-jokingly, “Just wait for the fix in ’26.” It doesn’t roll off the tongue, but it carries the same resigned thinking. This isn’t a quick storm to huddle through; it’s a season, possibly several, marked by contraction, stagnation, and quiet (or not-so-unquiet) unease.

But before we tip too far into nihilism, let’s pull back. Let’s remember that this isn’t the first time the creative world has faced this kind of crunch—nor will it be the last. And if history teaches us anything, it’s that creativity always finds a way to push through.

The question is: how do we get there?

Part of the answer lies in reframing community. The pandemic may have battered us with isolation, but it also forced a kind of recalibration. When everything went remote and then half-remote, people built networks that went beyond the office walls. Slack channels, virtual coffee chats, industry podcasts, and dare I even say it...LinkedIn—these lifelines may have been born out of necessity, but they stuck around because they worked. They fostered a kind of camaraderie, a reminder that when times are tough and challenging, we’re not alone.

The creative world can be a solitary, competitive place—ideas guarded, conversations laced with one-upmanship. But there’s also a collective recognition that we’re in this together, even if we’re not quite sure what “this” is.

Last year's Hollywood labor strikes iwas one sign: people standing up not just for better pay but for the right to create in a way that’s sustainable, fair, and human. It’s a reminder that even as industries contract, solidarity can expand.

So, where’s the hope?

This isn't a post about new ideas, audiences, new technology, and new financing—there are plenty of those in my feed. This is about finding hope in something more human.

It’s in the spaces where conversation flourishes without an agenda. It’s in mentorship that’s about bridge-building, not about ladder-climbing. It’s in those moments when someone shares a project they’re working on—not because it’s going viral or getting green-lit, but because they’re excited to have made something, full stop (or period for American readers). Creativity doesn’t disappear in lean times; it adapts and finds new ways to move forward.

If you’re reading this and thinking, “yes, that’s me”, “that’s what I’m feeling”—you’re not alone. Remember, the work you’re doing, the ideas you're developing, even when it’s hard, it all matters. There’s no denying that we’re in a tough chapter. And maybe surviving until ’25 (or '26) is a realistic goal right now. But don’t discount the quiet wins along the way.

So keep talking to each other, hold each other up, share your stories. Because the thing about these seasons? They pass. And when they do, those who endured, adapted, and, yes, supported each other will be the ones ready to shape what comes next.

And with that, I think I need another coffee.