Why You Must Stand Facing Forward in Your ‘Storms’
Conventional wisdom may not always make sense for the ‘storms’ we encounter in life
The world of optimism is an ever-growing wonder of mine. For simplicity’s sake, optimism is the secret ingredient I cherish, in both good and bad times.
Today I’m afraid, are mere darker moments that rumble near…
The News
My sunny days are far off in the distance. My present skies are now a sully gray, with swells of unexpected weighing pressures that threw my heartbeat off-beat.
Last week, my Dad’s doctor broke the most heart trembling news to me. I wasn’t ready.
Hell, is anyone ever ready for news like this? This was my ‘storm.’
Storms Vs. ‘Storms’
Weather storms can typically zip in and out of our lives like fleeting moments. Or they can sit and hover in our present world ever slowly, nearly bringing destruction and soul-crushing pressure.
The ‘storms’ in our lives, to which I am writing, are figurative of the emotionally debilitating responses we are certain to endure with time. These emotionally-wrought ‘storms’ may cause delay, disruption, and even nearly unrecoverable destruction.
I’m no expert in the different types of environmental storms or their distinct characteristics. But with generational cues and current observations, I’ve learned to read the way the wind blows. Even yet, it is the warm sticky, swell of ominous air that begs caution.
Does conventional wisdom truly make sense for the ‘storms’ we experience in our lives? What exactly will waiting out our storms manifest or bring about?
Meteorologists and weather advisory warning will alarm that I should find refuge. Bunker down. Or, seek the lowest terrain feature. In other words, these observers and forecasters commonly agree that in our storms, we must lie low and wait it out.
On its surface, this makes a sound argument. I, now, stand mercilessly in open space of life filled by the heaviest deluge of thunderstorms, harried gusts of winds looping figures, and jagged thrusts of electric bolts thrown violently into the sullied, drenched earth floors.
In this instance, Why wouldn’t I seek a safer place to stay safe and get out of danger?
Let me dig into this for a moment.
Thinking about ‘Storms’
I can’t help but think deeper about the personal ‘storm’ I’m in right now. How has my ‘storm’ shaped my beliefs about them?
I believe that figurative ‘storms’ that pass through and disrupt our daily lives do not possess the same harmful attributes of a literal environmental storm. Therefore, our ‘storms’ require us to interact differently with them, and our thinking and actions that follow largely play a role in how we survive on the other side of it.
I believe our ‘storms’ are living test or crucible. Inactivity is the most dangerous position to allow yourself into during your ‘storm.’ And, so with this, I believe, at all cost, you must push yourself to move forward when you are in the thick of your ‘storm.’
I believe that our storms are largely in the emotional realm, which means that everything we choose to think and behave is up to us. We can still choose action or inaction in these circumstances. The clear decision, no matter what, is not to lay low. It is to relentlessly hold on to the desire and will to move my body and mind out of the ‘storm’ at all cost.
Our ‘storms’ invoke flight or fight stimuli. I can choose to lay down and do nothing, thus becoming overcome by emotion and paralyzed by fear. Or, I can choose to hold firm, brace the impact, but not choose to go limp. At the very moment of the storm, I can choose to focus on the patch of light in the distance and move there.
‘Storm’ Pressures
This ‘storm’ that I currently stand in is my Category Five. The biometric pressure is crushing. The silted-infused swirling air about me is blinding. Choking. The high-pitched shrill of cracking, corrugated metal and splintered wood, at times, paralyzing the small child inside me.
Yes, this is my ‘storm.’ It is uniquely mine and mine alone. That is to say, what and how I choose to react to it is distinctly personal. Though scared yet optimistic, I choose to share this journey with you because I believe there is so much value in learning through watching others.
As detrimental as this may sound or feel, I must challenge the accepted notion to go bunker down and wait until my storm passes. Why?
I breathlessly fear the loss of momentum. The strangulation of hope. The water swept erasure of focus and resolve. This common wisdom to lie low screams passivity, inertia, and succumbing to your storm. And, for that, I must stand upright, face front, and push forward.
Because I can not…nor, will I allow myself to get stuck here!
Standing In Our ‘Storms’
Dad’s storm started several months ago. This storm, ushered in by jet streams, hit my peripheral, and within a blink, its eye was directly overhead. I was woefully underprepared and caught in the dark, crackling skies that drenched me to my bones.
As the doctor uncovered in laymen’s terms the gravity of the sickness, I plunged my right knee to the ground while instinctively holding my weight shifted frame with a quivering left hand.
I was nearly overcome with grief and shock. And like conventional wisdom, I wanted to lie low. But, something inside me would not allow me to prostrate. My left hand and arm held me up like a resilient anchor point.
I am flat square within the eye of this storm in my life. It is the heaviest thing I have ever experienced in my 42 years of living. The want and will to push forward is almost insurmountable at times, but I can not, I will not lie low.
If I have to kneel to catch my breath, to let out a guttural cry, and yell to the heavens above, I will. But I refuse to take refuge. If only a small step each day or a half step every other day. I’m postured to move forward.
As I watched my dad’s frame wheeled towards me on the other side of the hospital’s thick windows, I slid my mask to greet him with a smile. His voice punched through the walkie-talkie as I held the receiver in my lap.
I wanted to feel the vibrations of his voice while the words danced about in slight distortion. Seeing my dad gave me strength and reassurance. His voice remains as happy as a child eating their fresh syrup drench snow cone.
It doesn’t make sense for me to find a bunker now and lay low. To supposedly wait this out. As I talked to him on the walkie talkie, my dad’s smile said, “Stand firm!” It said to move forward. I knew he was reassuring me that this, too, shall pass.
At the end of my visit, I stood up, facing my sunny days and sensing the spot where the sun’s rays will pierce through again.
Though my posture swayed frontward, staggered, and slow. My lips cracked, curling into a slight smile.
I move forward, a step toward the horizon of hope.
Thank you for reading.
If you are interested to read more of my writings, you may read the following curated one published in The Masterpiece.
