This afternoon, I got a tornado warning on my phone. The kind that tells you to take shelter immediately. I looked out my bedroom window expecting to see chaos. Trees bent in half. Rain coming down sideways. The kind of sky you only ever see in disaster movies. Instead, it looked… normal. The trees barely moved. There wasn’t even any rain. For a moment, I thought, is this “the calm before the storm”? Somewhere nearby, Mother Nature was reminding us how quickly everything can change. Even if she hadn’t reached my street yet, the possibility was enough.
My mom made me tea, then went to sit in the prayer room in our house. I went back to bed with my tea and plugged my phone in to charge. My dog was downstairs, completely unbothered. Life carried on as if nothing was happening. Until I started thinking. I thought about the people who don’t get lucky. The families whose homes are actually destroyed. The people who don’t just watch the warning disappear from their phone thirty minutes later. The ones who come back to a house that no longer exists.
It made me think about everything inside a home that can never really be replaced. For me, that’s things like my grandmother’s silver anklets. Old sweaters from people who once meant the world to me. My little fish tank with my beautiful neon tetras swimming. Jack, my old one-eyed fish who has somehow become a tiny legend in this house. Even my money plant that I’ve watered daily and watched grow leaf by leaf. The walls that have quietly watched me become the person I am today.
It sounds strange saying all of that out loud. I spend so much time thinking about leaving. I dream about France. I dream about my own place. I dream about what comes next. Today reminded me that my dreams for tomorrow don’t cancel out gratitude for today. This house is still my home. It holds my family and my pets. It holds pieces of my life that no moving company could ever pack into a box.
For the first time, I found myself thinking about people who have lived through hurricanes, floods, and tornadoes with a kind of empathy I don’t think I’ve ever fully felt before. You always hear about relief funds, but there are things no amount of money could rebuild. Those things never make the headlines.
I also realized something about myself. I’ve never really called myself an environmentalist. I’ve always cared, of course. Most people do, but caring in the abstract is different from looking around your own room and realizing how much of your life depends on the world outside your window staying stable. That was today’s reminder. Nature doesn’t owe us another ordinary Saturday.
When the warning finally disappeared from my phone, I felt relief in a way I don’t think I ever have before. I realized I still had all the little things I almost forgot to appreciate. The tea was still warm. My dog was still downstairs, napping. Jack was still swimming around like the old majestic soul he is. My room was still my room. It was one of the most ordinary afternoons I’ve ever had, and at the same time, one of the most meaningful. So today, I don’t have any grand conclusion. I just wanted to say something I probably should have said a long time ago.
Thank you, Mother Nature.
Not for scaring the hell out of me,
but for reminding me of what I already have.”
~ Karny