Of Storms, and Metaphors
Storm’s a’ Commin’
Life speaks to us in metaphors.
The last four days have been a whirlwind of activity as we prepared to list our house for sale, taking the last major step before moving on to a new life. Caroline's parents, Suzanne and Hoppy, and her sister Lillie, all descended on our house this week to help us. They helped us finish the last of the repairs, polish all the little details and clean - well, clean oh-so-much. The family joined us and the painter's crew, who worked ten hour days all weekend to complete the last of their work. After four full days of exhausting work, we left our house on Club Boulevard spotless, freshly painted, and nicer than it has ever looked. It is now in the hands of our Realtor, and officially listed for sale as of this morning.
Caroline is half a wreck, texting back and forth with our Realtor Julie and agonizing over all the little details. I am calmer; with nothing left for us to do, I cannot worry too much. Everything is out of our hands.
After completing the last of our work, Caroline and I fled with the family to Topsail Beach for a week of vacation, to decompress - and to be out of the house this week as Julie shows it to potential buyers. We left a kind of storm back home - is it still home? I think ... maybe not? - we left the storm back home to arrive to a real storm, Hurricane Isais, heading toward us at Topsail.
So here I stand on the deck as the rain is beginning, the wind blowing dark and brooding clouds directly at us, and cannot help but think of the parallels. I think of the storm of activity we just left. I think of the storm of change ahead of us as we now, without a real home, move on to the next phase of our life. I think of storms of the past and the stress and the worry that comes with them and feel a similar feeling. Caroline is already in there, stressing about the showings of our house as strangers decide whether or not the home we lived in for eleven years is good enough to want. I feel more as though I stand in the eye of the storm, with wild winds before me and behind.
It is weird to think about. I have become unused to change, despite my upbringing moving around every few years. Caroline and I settled in Durham. We did settle, and put down roots, and now we have torn up the roots, exposing them to the world like a tree felled by the storm. Our lives are raw and tender right now, but, truly, I am not worried. There is nothing behind me that I can worry about, and the future is always tomorrow.
In the moment, I stand watching the approaching storm as I have for the last year. In the moment, I write bad prose, overly flowery with sentiment and metaphor. In the moment, I am with family, with nothing left to do but wait for the storm to pass and see what it looks like outside when we emerge from our hiding place.
Life speaks to us in metaphors. Or perhaps we are just too good at finding patterns and drawing connections. Regardless, we weather the storms knowing the change brings new growth, and in the morning the sun will come out and the day will be good.
