By Deborah Blackwell

We had our first big snowstorm last week and the weather people called it “historic.” For 12 hours, in our little corner of the world, snow flew outside our windows like a shaken snow globe, and wind howled through the walls of our tiny home. To me, this is wintery bliss, so I sat inside enjoying every minute, except when the the lights flickered. The thought of losing power always trips a swell of discomfort in me that I push away like the plague. I mean, it’s only electricity, what’s the big deal?

“You’re not smiling, and this is the snow you’ve been waiting for,” Sir Husband said as he set his GoPro camera in the the window. 

“Oh right. It is,” I said. “But what if we lose power?” I fake-smiled and he rolled his eyes. He’s heard this for many years. One of my not-so-hidden secrets is that no power = no control, no comfort, no convenience, and I’m already worn down. 

Have you noticed that almost everything in the last few years has been such a big deal? It’s either dire, historic, or catastrophic. How could this beautiful, peaceful, quiet snow—even in its 4-inches-per-hour blizzard-y swirl—come with so many warnings that included the word “deadly”?

These are turbulent times. When my kids were little, there was news, but other than world-altering 9/11, it wasn’t in our faces. Things felt normal, we endured life’s basic ups and downs. Now the norm is scary. Violence, racism, mayhem and divisiveness everywhere we turn, COVID…not your average run-of-the-mill stuff, certainly not easy, and perhaps in close examination, echoing the adversity some of our ancestors faced.

As I concentrated on the wintery, white-out glory outside, I tried to figure out why even the threat of a power outage makes me so uncomfortable. Well, for one thing, it triples my to-do list. I charge all the technology, clean the house, do the laundry, stock up on paper goods, non-perishables, and of course wine. I even make extra meals that will taste good cold, then I tucker out—long before the lights may even start to flicker. 

But, the real reason is that these last couple of years have amplified the broken places in everyone. What we once could hide in our depths and shadows is revealing itself—physically and emotionally. We work hard to hide our vulnerability, the moments we are upset, scared, and uncertain, the deep cracks and crevices formed from our past. Fears, worries, even hopes and dreams bounce around inside, denting our very essence. We put on a brave face, put our protective shields up, and push down our authenticity to avoid judgment. Then, when something “big” comes along, our fault lines are exposed.

I’ve gotten to know my weak spots well, and while some make me cringe, I am getting better at using the lens of compassion. I try to live from my heart, be honest about what’s important, welcome what life brings, and move forward with courage. I ask myself: What really matters? How do I want to participate in this one, glorious, incredible, special, human life? Some days that’s a tough question. So, when I come face-to-face with my fault lines, I pause, take a breath, and invite in some ease. Instead of resisting what feels uncomfortable, I try to just let it to be part of my experience. And somehow, it softens. 

The storm quietly raged, but in a stroke of luck, the power stayed on. By nightfall, more than two feet of fluffy snow coated everything as far as the eye could see. For snow lovers, it was heavenly. We lit a fire in the fireplace, curled up on the couch, and I let out a sigh of relief. Why do I worry so much? The world carries on, just like it always does. I need to stop holding my breath and waiting around for potential discomfort because I’m missing out on what’s truly important. Enjoying life. Pretty sure that’s the big deal.