Lessons Three. Four. And Five.

“Kristin’s a good person with a good heart.  She just made a big mistake.”

Two nights before Hurricane Gonzalo, I commented on a Facebook post about public schools being open the next day, while private schools would be closed.  I didn’t read the whole thread, but while skimming I did see that most, if not all, of the commenters felt the schools being open was a stupid decision. I added my 2p that perhaps for this day, the schools would be a ‘service’ for those parents whose jobs were not closed or who needed to do lots of pre-storm prep.  The inferences that followed were that I felt a) teachers shouldn’t be allowed the same prep allowances and b) teachers are baby-sitters.  Neither was true, but the firestorm that followed was immediate and intense.  Any comment I added to try and explain my view (which admittedly was not even one I felt strongly about), or even provide support, was beaten down. 

I apologised to everyone for the misunderstanding, then the above was said about my ‘big mistake’.  And while that statement could be about my life generally (like f’real - such an accurate summation!!) and I agree about making a mistake, I disagree about what it was.  Not my view – which was echoed by other people on other pages in better words.   The ‘big mistake’ was wading into a conversation where emotions were high with a different opinion, when I had no skin in the game.  Not having a school aged child, or being a teacher, or even feeling strongly enough about what I was saying to stop and properly craft messages rather than hastily type them on my phone – I should have stayed out of it.  Period.  

"Just to think she's the head of a group of young adults/kids for Raleigh International yrs past.  If this is how (she) thinks I'm so glad my daughter didn't fall under her watch..."

This was one of the comments made in the Facebook fray, and the next day I thought about this comment over and over … and over.  Some people say they don’t care what anybody thinks.  While I’m 100% sure that’s bullshit, I admire the spirit.  I care a lot about what people think.  

And Raleigh is such a major part of who I am, from breath to bones, that this post felt really personal. Instead of acknowledging it as a ‘heat of the moment’ statement from someone who does not know me, I let it (as usual) shake me.

But having this tape running through my head the day before a massive storm was about to hit was counter-productive.   In order to actually get sorted, I had to put it aside, and not allow myself days of dwelling.  This comment would pop into my mind when getting ice or testing flashlights, causing my heart to beat fast and my mind to wander.  But with Gonzalo bearing down, a wandering mind was a luxury I couldn’t afford. 

And so I did what I usually do not – reminded myself of who I am, accepted that this post is not, in the big scheme of things, that important, and focused on what was.  I took a deep breath and I moved on.  Funny... it only took a hurricane... 

“It’s $150.” “But it took you like 10 minutes...”

Get an estimate before the job, even in a hurricane emergency.   Not as big a lesson as the others, but damn I’m bad with money.

***

How about you?  What did you take away from our double storm whammy?

Lesson Two.

Eight Days. Two Hurricanes. One a surprise. 120 miles per hour winds. 149 hours without electricity (not consecutive). 10 D batteries. 3 bucket baths.  12 bottles of wine (don’t judge us).  1 bottle of rum.  One attack of tears. Half a broken balcony (Fay).  The other half a broken balcony.  (Gonzalo). A vat of guacamole.  Three pieces of tarp.  Two pieces of plywood. Six homemade sand bags. One bonfire.  Four bags of chips.  Two drives to use the toilet.  One drive to charge my phone. One undamaged bookstore. One badly damaged ship.  9 candles.  11 dipped buckets of water.   Two long walks.  Four trees down.  Three BBQ dinners.  Four large bags of ice.  Five games of Rummy 500.  One marathon Jenga session.  One unfinished game of Spit.  Plenty dancing. Two Toni Morrison books.  Tons of heroes.  Numerous pictures. One unbowed island.    #bermystrong

I’ve been crying for about 20 minutes. Nothing hysteric… no wailing or gnashing of teeth or rending of garments… just tears quietly streaming from my eyes, me wiping them away.

It was the use of the term ‘life-threatening’.  I don’t know why it surprised me – hurricanes ARE deadly, and I’d been overdosing on information about this particular storm for days.  We all knew it was coming (yes we knew THIS one was coming), that it was gonna be powerful, that we needed to be prepared.  But for some reason, seeing it there in black and white  - ‘life-threatening’ – something inside me snapped.  And I got scared.

Gonzalo was coming tomorrow.  

We were here sipping wine and living life and buying plywood and candles… it wasn’t enough.  I had to tell my friends I loved them.  I had to tell my family I loved them.   I had to post on Facebook that I loved everyone.  I was scared but wanted to stop crying.  I wanted to say that we should continue being good to each other, to keep the power of this unified quest for survival, to scoff at the melodrama of terms like ‘life-threatening’.  

Because we are #bermystrong.

****

And here we are.  Our little island that could.

There is so much damage – I can’t stop scrolling through the heart-breaking pictures of damaged roofs, and uprooted trees, and broken ships.

But here we are, with no lives lost, smiling at each other in disbelief.

Candles blazing, water dipping, kids outside playing ‘Simon Says’ and ‘1-2-3 Red Light’.  BBQs fired up.  Tarp being spread wide to cover roofs.  Rakes scraping up leaves and chain saws cutting up casuarinas and (sadly) cedars.  Cards and scrabble laid out on dining tables. Facebook statuses about ‘the scariest moment of my life’ and ‘oh my god I hid in a closet’.

But here we are.

In our rental apartment, we were oh so lucky, with very little damage.  Our landlord had beautiful trees come down, and we lost our balcony railing.  Small potatoes.

So, with our electricity out and nothing but time, I find myself simply enjoying what I’ve oft-missed.  Connecting with people – family, neighbours, strangers. Staring up at a starry sky – all the more clear with no lights to block the view.  Searching for dead wood then cracking a branch over my thigh so I can build a small bonfire in my chiminea and smell smoke in my clothes.  Playing rummy/shithead/spoons/spit.  Writing. Doing nothing at all.

And feeling…

My previous job at Raleigh Bermuda was 7 years of feeling.  And for thirty-three, I was so focused on achieving, doing, trying, being frustrated, being disappointed, being busy, acting out… I wonder…. Did I let myself feel? Fear, love, anger, sadness, gratitude, wholeness.  Not orchestrating moments but genuinely living and feeling.

This hurricane brought some feelings that snuck up on me, both before the storm – thus the tears - and now post-storm, I am melting into these feels, letting them wash over me.

And loving the lesson. 

Lesson One.

"I'm so irritated with myself.  I hurt someone's feelings."  "Is it fixable?"  *pause*  "No."

Thirty-Three is over.  It was my jesus year – meant to be a year of transformation, of risk-taking, of movement, of me changing the world.  Instead it was a year of near zero clarity, of chaos, of trying a ton of wildly unrelated except to me ideas, of these ideas mostly not working, and of making pretty large, less-than-well thought out choices.  Other than a wicked awesome Best Cup Match ever, a new job that I like, and a couple moments just before things didn’t work out when I was still full of delusional optimism … it was a big heapity heap of angst and frustration. 

But, because I'm insane, I didn’t dwell on any of the good things (and yes there was more than just Cup Match although seriously... it was incredible).  I didn't take a moment to be happy for what had worked. Didn't even honour the age old, 'What did I learn?'

Instead, I just cried, scrapped 33 and began planning for 34, daydreaming about how it would be so different… way more full of inspiration, and love.  More being kinder to myself and to others, and less of saying Yes too much, and feeling ragged and sad.  But most importantly *cue the music* me changing the world, you know ACTUALLY this time. Me and 34 were going to walk into the sunset, holding hands, laughing at how we overcame it all.  

All I had to do was just make it around the final bend of 33.   

Alas, I stumbled at the finish line, and as I was reaching for some celebratory birthday champagne and lamb, 33 grabbed me, held up a mirror and said, 'it's not me, it's you...'.  Thirty-Three forced me to think about how my ‘good intentions’ actually won't amount to much. That, without meaning to, I can be dismissive. That I’m self-centred.  *yikes* 

Okay, I knew I was self-centred.  

Yet over the years I've thought slash expected aka hoped, and it's mostly been the case, that folks have instead focused on my aforementioned good intentions.  Most have celebrated my energy and ideas and passion.  They've excused some of my poor behaviour because perhaps they recognised it as frustration at slow change or seen that my head is so full of ideas it overwhelms me and clouds my judgement.  Sometimes they've chalked it up to the impetuosity of youth.

But now ... I’m 34.  And in week one of being so, I've seen that these excuses are not valid. That I can be irresponsible and naive. And shitty. And selfish.  And, as per Murakami *deep sigh*, had I actually been cruel? Ouch....*ET Voice* 

Ugh this sucks.  So, how'm I gonna dig myself out of this? I screwed up, had no way out, and the masochist in me wants to just sit and think about it over and over.  And when I say 'wants to' I mean I'm currently doing that, and alternating between sending a fruit basket, writing another apology (is handwritten better?  or an email? or maybe a card!), or just saying 'screw this I didn't mean it I'm a good person!', then quickly telling myself, 'no you're not...' aannndd back to the fruit.  *endless loop*

Well... I've decided that instead, and because this person said as they stared with deep disappointment in their eyes, 'there's a lesson to be learned here' (which was a touch patronising and "young lady"-ish, especially when they wagged their finger but I'll take it because ultimately they're right...), that's just what I'll do.  Not gonna excuse anything, not gonna think about it endlessly or use it as reason to sit paralysed. I'm going to stop, breathe, think and learn.  

And, so whether 34 is all I wish it to be, or *ohgodno* if 34 is about the same as 33... either way, just let me learn something this time around.