Out of nowhere

The day was finally ending.

It had been a tough one. I was ready to put it behind me.  

The sun was still high in the sky, which was a brilliant blue. The kind of blue that is so rich and beautiful that it doesn’t seem ominous.  

The dog started pacing beside me – all shedding fur and shivery nerves. She weaved back and forth on a carpeted runway, refusing to settle or be comforted. 

Something was coming. 

And as sure as I am confused by the colorful animation of the weather radar, my dog seems naturally centered in the eye of the storm.

Dogs know. She had already been preparing for the worst long before I was startled by the sudden disharmony of sounds: wind beating against the windows and something resembling metal being dragged along pavement, then silence for a moment followed by a deafening crack. I fully expected the trees outside to be clawing their way in through the roof. 

Now my heart felt like it was jumping rope. 

Outside, the rain started coming down in sheets. The sudden deluge turned every surface into a container threatening to overflow. Gusts were turning the sun shades into billowing sails. The wall of windows that helped sell me on the house now seemed terrifying.

Yet, the sky was still smiling at me as the weather conjured its worst.

Meanwhile,I tried my best to regain my resting heart rate and remain as calm as a frequent flier during heavy turbulence. Lead by example, right? 

Right?

Wrong.

It never works. My startle reflex had set this panic in motion. I couldn't make my inner turmoil seem stoic.

So I did the next best thing: distraction. 

I turned on the television to the least terrifying thing I could think of: game shows

of the home improvement variety. 

And for the next four to seventy-seven hours I watched two extremely enthusiastic women organize the homes of their friends, famous people and famous people who are also friends.

So while the winds howled and the dog snoozed (thanks to the miracle of veterinary medicine) I watched a zillion episodes of a team of people color-coordinating possessions and making 10,000 tons of stuff fit neatly into a five-pound pantry. 

I rolled through the seasons like the thunder rolled through the neighborhood. With lightning speed.

Losing myself in watching strangers turn their troubled overflow rooms into tidy, ultra organized architectural masterpieces.

Honestly, it feels good to be in the closet. There’s something deeply satisfying about bringing order to chaos. I feel calm listening to careful enunciation of the show host’s S’s and T’s. I can feel my blood pressure dropping with each click of a space-equalized clothes hanger. 

Even if I have no personal interest in lining up my shoes or organizing my jeans and sweatshirts into an ombré of creams, charcoals and chambre, I feel at the edge of ease. 

And that’s close enough for now.

Especially as the storm rages on.