Power

We lost power in our house yesterday. It happens three or four times a year, and each time it does, a small, doubtful voice in me wonders, “What if doesn’t come on ever again?” Intellectually, I know this is silly. I know about Seattle City Light and their squadrons of repairmen on-call for this very reason; I know about the government website that shows exactly where the outage occurred, and how many customers were affected, and the estimated time until service will resume; and I know that every single time this has happened in the last twenty-five years that I’ve lived in this house power did in fact return. I know all this, and yet, the voice whispers anyway.

I sometimes attribute my doubts to the disruption wrought by our powerlessness. The house, at first, feels dead with no electricity humming through it, the rooms all lit by the shadowy, curtain-filtered afternoon sunlight. I like brighter, so I throw a light switch, and then remember. In the winter, I light a big fire and we sit around it, which is sweet and relaxing, but I’d still rather have the power, the choice. I wander out onto the street, scanning left and right, looking for the telltale red traffic cones and orange trucks. I want to see them working.

Sometimes they’re close by, and the sight of their busyness provides a little comfort. But only a little. I tell myself to quit obsessing and just wait. They’ll fix it. It’s what they do. I just wish I could see it all, see where the power was coming from, see the interruption, the problem, and then observe every wire and coil being replaced and repaired, the way the timer on my stove counts the minutes and seconds until my pasta is done. Instead, I have to wait and trust. The power always comes back, I remind myself. Always.

And it did. Once it was on, I returned to my desk and my now-functioning computer to finish something I’d been working on when my little world went dark. I can’t mentally just pick up exactly where I left off. It takes a bit. I reread what I wrote, read it again, was tempted to read it a third time, but decided otherwise. I could feel something bubbling that wasn’t ready to come through yet. No matter. It’s nice to be in Flow when you’re being carried along by one idea and then another, but it’s also nice to wait if you can be patient, feeling that everything you need and want is there even though you can’t see it or hear it, only know it.

If you like the ideas and perspectives expressed here, feel free to contact me about individual coaching and group workshops.

Everyone Has What It Takes: A Writer’s Guide to the End of Self-Doubt
You can find William at: williamkenower.com