Powerless

Puget Sound was struck by something called a Cyclone Bomb, which meant a lot of wind, which meant trees ripped up by their roots, which meant power going out everywhere. Well, not everywhere. Ours went out just as the storm got blowing, and in a blink the whole house was as dark and quiet as a mausoleum. The next morning, I was up early to charge my phone in my car and check in on my mother-in-law, driving north by high beams through unlit streets, this and that road blocked off from the night’s wreckage. Without power, Seattle had a strange, end-of-the world feeling of which, given some recent political events, I was a bit fatigued.

I was surprised by my own relief when I saw a blinking traffic light ahead, and then noticed the street lights above, and predawn commuters checking their phones at bus stops as if everything was normal – which, in their world, it apparently was. Likewise in my mother-in-law’s neighborhood, so I turned around and headed home, eventually passing the dividing line of power haves and have-nots. When would ours come on? There was no telling. It was as if we were on a ship and no one knew when we’d reach land, not even the captain, who could only say, “Soon. Well, eventually anyway. Try not to think about it.”

We thought about it. The house grew colder by the hour, the food spoiling in the fridge. We drove back to my mother-in-law’s just to charge our phones and check emails. I cancelled interviews and clients. Sick of sitting around with nothing to do, I de-mossed my roof and cleaned my gutters by cloudy daylight. That felt better, but then it was back to more waiting. I played my guitar. More waiting, and now the house getting darker as the sun set on its brief, November cycle. My son declared that the power would never come back on, that this would be our lives forevermore. I told him that was silly, but it did kind of feel that way.

Then, at 2:00 AM I was awakened by the sound of the heat pumping and the blinking light of our bedside alarm clock. I was a little disappointed by just how giddy I felt, so much so that I had trouble falling back to sleep. I told myself I should just relax when this happens again, that it’s always just a matter of time, that there are people working around the clock on it, but I doubted my future resolve.

After all, there’s good waiting and useless waiting. The worst is when everything I think I want and need is out there in the future, and maybe it will come and maybe it won’t, and there’s nothing to do but hope and doubt and hope some more. The best is when I’m at my desk, and I know the next sentence is coming though I just don’t know when and I don’t really care. The sitting and the staring and the typing all feel the same, all feel creative, all feel peaceful and interesting, creative power having no on or off switch, just always flowing if I should choose to join it.

Check out Fearless Writing with Bill Kenower on YouTube or your favorite podcast app.

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