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.