In advance of Hurricane Isaias, the Mayor of Pensacola reminded us that hurricane recovery is a marathon, not a sprint. Since this is my first real one I thought, "huh, I wonder what he means by that."
Now, I know. How cute am I?
It's day four without power and I'm sitting on my bedroom floor, using my starlink which is plugged into my neighbors generator, with an extension cord running under our fence. All of my immediate neighbors are running generators, which feels like living at the base of a runway.
But I've learned some things that I hope to remember, and they aren't really about hurricanes at all.
My little neighbor believes in safety first.
Thing #1 - Hurricanes make your neighborhood a village.
Last night my neighbor Michelle brought some dinner over in paper bowls. We have food in our camper fridge that I could have cooked, but you underestimate how tiring all this chaos is. Plus, I'm working still. When I went to the camper to find something to shove in my mouth, Michelle appeared carrying dinner for Sam and me. "That's some some attentive, neighborly kindness right there," I thought.
When people call or text me to ask about the damage Pensacola sustained (it is huge and heartbreaking) I tell them I don't really know, because my life has shrunk to the size of my street and my dozen neighbors. We talk every day, we share food and get limbs off each other's houses. Sam's good with a chainsaw, so is my neighbor Fred. Vinnie has lived here since 1954 so he's an experienced hurricane marathoner. He rolled by yesterday and yelled out the window, "maybe today's the day for power!" then waved and drove off.
People always say this, but your neighbors are your treasure during natural disasters. We should remember that when the power is on too.
Down the block
Thing #2 - Finding the pause
Before I was actively benefitting from my neighbor's generator I was massively overstimulated by it. But Michelle isn't just powering her fridge, she's powering the Steele's too on the other side of her. Longtime locals know that chainsaws and generators are the soundtrack of hurricane season. I'm the beginner.
When I finally quit fighting it and sat on my front porch, there was a pause in my mind and I entered it. There I noticed, because there's no light, I can see the stars. The breeze is salty and cool and everybody is resting from their labor or milling around the street, chatting. In that moment, I could see the goodness.
My house is fine. Everybody is safe. Candlelight in the living room is nice โ maybe even nicer than lightbulbs. I even brought my portable speaker out to the porch and listened to The Cure, Kate Bush and India Arie, allowing art they made in the 80's soak into my bones. Every time my brain started running scenarios, which is my default, I felt invited just to be in the pause and listen to the music.
Can I remember to dwell in the pause when the power is back on? I hope so.
Thing #3 Life is both noisy generators and clear skies
Bombarded with noise for hours and days I kept thinking it shouldn't be like this, I have to solve this. But it is like this Erin. This is our current reality, so are you creating your own suffering by resisting it. Yes. 100%.
Then I realized, "oh no wait, life is always like this." It's always tragic-fantastic all at once. Trying to eliminate one while embracing the other feels foolish, even a little selfish. The pro move is to embrace all of it and still get into the pause.
But I will say when everyone turns them off about 10pm, it's sublime. So, you know, contrast.
Sam can fix anything.
Thing #4 - My phone is dead and I'm not sad.
Can we all just admit that our go-to strategy for managing dysregulation, sadness, worry, fear, boredom or whatever is to pick up our phones and scroll?
But scrolling doesn't regulate us, it numbs us. So you might as well drink a few a martinis and go look at the stars. You'd probably be better off.
My nervous system has settled down measurably here in this dark, loud void. Because for the last four days, I really haven't known anything but what was happening on my street. Sure, we were all in the soup, but we're in it together so it's manageable. Nothing on my phone is managable, worse, I'm there dealing with it alone, in my head.
When we got cell service back on Sunday night, I looked at Instagram โ admittedly, a good way to find out what's going on โ but I felt the agita rising and I set it down. Back to my porch and the pause.
It's better.
Harley and Goliath a few years ago.
What's next? IDK.
But you should see how hard people are working to fix this. I've never seen so many line and tree crews in my life. I mourn a little bit every time I see a giant, chopped-up trunk of one of our famous oaks lying in the street. Perhaps I will go back to cultivating acorns from my favorite Spanish oak, Goliath, who, happily, made it through the storm intact.
See if I can't grow a few descendents.
I hope you have an uneventful week.
xoe
Responses