Blood sky in the mornin’
Shoulda seen the warnin’
Captain to the seamen
Man your battle stations
Poseidon’s on a mission
‘Bout to turn it up to eleven
— Puscifer, Man Overboard
As they say, it never rains, it pours. And some storms are a real mind fuck. Hurricane Harvey moves in like he owns the place and decided to return one day. Irma shows up with massive baggage to unpack. And the only plus side to these two awful visitors is that they’re tangible. We saw them coming. Nothing can be done about them, but at least we know what to do and how to help those affected.
Most storms, however, are not so tangible. And their effects are not so clear. And more often than not, we’re given no warning.
They’re less like storms, in that sense, and more like bombs.
We don’t have a chance to batten down the hatches and secure the sails. There is no preemptive call for all hands on deck. No time to toss the extras over. One moment we’re cruising, and then suddenly we’re on the verge of being capsized, with wave after wave buffeting our vessel one after another with impunity.
What, the fuck, do we do in those moments.
Well, whatever we do, we can’t let the ship go down. Its in these moments of struggle where we must learn to shine. These are the real opportunities to prove our mettle. And we have little choice but to. When this storm is over, it will only be a matter of time before the next one hits, and we want to be better prepared next time.
After all, calm seas never made a skilled sailor.