Relentlessness and Gratitude

Author’s Note: I wrote this last week but waited to post because Black Friday is our Christmas Tree decorating day but I still wanted to have something up…all of that to say, if the weather timeline is funky that’s why! And I hope you had a good Thanksgiving!

I’m sitting in a coffee shop writing this after one heck of a week. For those of you not in the know, the PNW had a giant windstorm earlier this week, and pretty much the whole county lost power. It’s three days later and there are still a hundred thousand or so people in the dark. And there’s another, smaller storm coming this afternoon, so as soon as I’m done with this, I’m heading out to a probably half-stocked grocery story to buy lunch meat and cereal so we can have food for tomorrow if we lose power again.

It all feels a little relentless right now.

And also I feel like I should be grateful. We were among the first to get out power back, just 24 hours later. I suppose that’s the benefit of being on the same road as four schools and a fire station. And my kids went back to school today when so many around us have a third day off because the buses can’t get around safely and the schools are cold and dark.

I feel like I live with the constant combination of relentlessness and gratitude. The crap keeps coming and coming and yet there is so much goodness in my world. And it’s not that I’m tired or out of gas or depressed. It’s that I have whiplash.

Two days ago, my little family was all huddled together in one room, where two of us played a board game, two of us read quietly and one of us fell asleep on the couch (hint: the sleeping one was me, and yes, the tweens did take photos of me drooling.) My kids are older and so willing to just read and relax all day. But I had a cold; all I wanted was a cup of tea and some warm soup. Still, the weather broke and power came back in time for our food to be saved and dinner to get made. But I got to spend the next four hours frantically getting laundry and dishes done in case something happened and the power went out again.

This is life, I understand that. But I think it’s also the season. My kids are growing up fast and I’m having the same feelings of relentlessness and gratitude. This weekend, instead of doing small gifts from every famliy member to every other family member, we decided to do a secret santa within our family, so that each person can get one larger gift that they really want. Since then, I’ve received no less than three carefully hidden notes, each asking me what I want, and each with a piece of candy. I’m doing very little and they’re creating this magical little tradition all by themselves. I’m so thankful.

And also, this morning, one of the twins said something like, “Oh, when I go to college…” and I’m not really sure what the rest of the sentence was because I am not even joking when I say my eye started twitching at those words. It is too damn early for her to be talking like that. Except it’s not. She’s old enough to start envisioning a future for herself. I want her to dream and work towards those dreams.

So how do I live in this world where I feel like I’m playing whack-a-mole? My daughter jokingly said, when I mentioned my twitching eye, that I should try to enjoy the moments while they’re here and not borrow trouble for the future. Then we both laughed hysterically. Because while that might be all right for some, that’s not how I’m built. Nor is it how I want to be built.

I think, instead, the key is in leaning into the relentlessness. I’m not totally sure if this is true, but I’m told when piloting a boat, it’s easier to navigate waves if you turn to face them perpendicularly. Being hit side-on is dangerous and disorienting, but if the prow is facing the wave, it can do its job and cut through the water.

Whatever is coming is going to come, whether or not I want it to. But when I see those first signs of trouble - when the lights flicker or our child says, “Yeah, I want to go to college far away…” - I can steer into them. Into the fear, into the discomfort, into the cold and yes, into the dark. And then, eventually, into the gratitude of a storm safely weathered.