At this time last year I was living in Florida and had evacuated to escape Hurricane Irma. I was house sitting for a friend whose home was directly on Tampa Bay. The sea wall that separated the backyard from the bay was only a short distance from the house. Two years prior I lost most of my personal belongings in a house fire in Minnesota. I didn’t have much left and faced losing what I did have, minus what I could fit in my car. I was sick to my stomach. Hadn’t I already lost enough?
When talk of Irma being a real threat began, an uneasy feeling came over me. I knew I had to leave. One good thing (there might only be one more in that they’re unpredictable, which is both good and bad) about hurricanes is you get plenty of warning time, which equates to discerning what you’re going to do if it lives up to its potential. This is the opposite of the fire I had, which happened suddenly and gave me no more than sixty seconds to get out of the house. I couldn’t shake the trepidation that was growing inside me and said longer and louder prayers to help me decide what to do. I even enlisted friends to pray for me. A house fire followed by a hurricane only two years later. How could this be?
Crazy as it sounds, my fire was a blessing in some ways. I was able let go of “things”. Things that were just that, “things.” It was a hard knock way to learn, yet it was incredibly liberating. It felt good to lighten my load. My home was not cluttered by any means, but after living there thirteen years, I had accumulated some things I needed to part ways with. I now possess about 90% less “things” than I did before the fire.
As Irma moved closer, I made plans with friends to be gone for at least a week. I was going to visit some states I hadn’t been to and was looking forward to the trip. I was going more than 1000 miles away! Irma didn’t stand a chance to get me, at least not me personally, but what I left behind she could have.
Prior to leaving, I moved my belongings to the upper level of the house. I had to think long and hard about what I was leaving behind and what I was taking with me. All of my important papers would go with me. All of the most sentimental things would go with me. A reasonable amount of clothing and toiletries would go with me. What I left behind I was willing to lose. I had not been in a situation like this before and I didn’t like the way it made me feel. I had made adjustments to life’s adversities in the past and become resilient (for the most part), but here I was having to let go, again.
Once I was on the road and started my evacuation journey, I felt an instant sense of relief.
My whole being felt lighter and I stopped worrying about what I might lose. I was okay with letting it go. My focus moved to what was ahead of me and not what was in the rear view. I beat the mad rush out of Florida, but traffic was still heavy. I looked around and wondered if anyone else was feeling like I was?
A couple days after I left, I learned the neighborhood I lived in was ordered to leave under a mandatory evacuation notice. There goes the neighborhood, literally! I envisioned the last of my plastic totes and boxes floating out to sea. Surprisingly, I didn’t care. I had already done all I could and felt a further sense of relief knowing I wasn’t going to be washed away on one of those plastic totes hoping and praying I wouldn’t be eaten by sharks!
More than half of the twelve days I was away were spent in remote areas that had poor wifi connections. Again, I didn’t care. It felt good to be unplugged. I wasn’t worrying about what Irma was doing. I was safe. I wasn’t wasting time scrolling through social media. All I needed to know is that I was okay exactly where I was - and I was. My focus was on the quality time I was able to spend with cherished friends. My focus was on the beauty of the new places I was exploring and the experiences I was able to enjoy because of where I was and who I was with.
It was a special time for me. I was forced to reflect on what really mattered. It wasn’t in any of the boxes or totes I left behind for Irma. It wasn’t in any of the boxes and totes I had in the trunk of my car.
When I returned to Florida twelve days after Irma scared me away, I discovered that she took a last minute turn and let me keep the things I was willing to lose. I thought if I was willing to lose them once, then I should take another look at what I did have. I took apart every single box and tote and threw away things unimaginable to some; my deceased son’s baby book, childhood and family pictures, cards and letters saved from special occasions (including sympathy cards) and other things I once deemed worthy of saving. What value did these “things” have? Other than serving as a reminder of precious memories, nothing. I did not need to touch these things to know what they meant. I did not have to see these things in order to recall a memory.
By no means I am belittling the keepsaking of sentimental things. I did it for most (48 out of 51 years, so that’s a high percentage) of my life and consider it normal for most people. Life’s adversities have taught me to open my eyes to what matters most. Having boxes and totes of things is not where I look to find the joys life has to offer. I look to the experiences I have with cherished friends and family. I look to the places I get to explore. I look in my own backyard. I look to the forest, the trees, the birds, the bees, the sun, the moon, the lakes, the rivers, the oceans, mountains and everything of nature on this beautiful earth. None of these can be kept in a box. With the eyes of my heart, I am willing to lose anything that’s in a box. With the eyes of my heart I see what matters. It’s YOU and every wonderful, magical, blessed experience I have had over these past three years (since the fire) with all of you in all of the places I have been fortunate to go.
If you see Irma, please thank her for lightening my load - again! Same goes for the lightning, just don’t get too close!
