Switch On.
Like many, this week has been an awakening, and for me, this time proved to be no exception.
Dealing with variety of storms was not an unusual occurrence for the west of Ireland, but Storm Éowyn was at a scale that was unprecedented beyond my own privileged ass scopes of my imagination. While this is no dramatic blockbuster tale, the lack of connection of the last few days and the inability to switch on to anything, made me finally reassess some things.
Friday Morning the 24th
I woke up after a bad night’s sleep to my mother informing me that the power was gone. With that she reminded me that I needed to get up soon because the Red Warning will disappear in half an hour, and we had to be ready to help my father outside as soon as possible.
What did I do?
Well, automatically I went to my phone. No phone signal. No bars. Nothing.
I inhaled. I exhaled.
“It’s fine,” I lied to myself. “This will help conserve my phone’s battery and besides by the time we have cleared all the trees, everything will be back to normal.”
Meanwhile my mother was taking advantage of what had now become precious commodities, a battery-operated radio, a gas stove top and an open fire. The same open fire my mother was using to cook toast.
My nephews were amused by the situation while I suddenly had flashbacks to my own early childhood, where my grandparents cooked everything in the fireplace. But to have any form of warm food or gas stove warmed water in our stomachs felt like a blessing that cold, windy morning.
The amusement soon left when the Red Warning was lifted, and we went outside.
Trees.
Debry.
Trunks.
Fences.
Branches.
Metal parts of various slatted sheds.
They were all scattered throughout the farm, but thankfully nowhere near the house or animals. Despite earthquake like shakes that vibrated throughout the night, houses nearby stayed intact. But not the same could be said for the historic 100-year-old trees that were then blocking the entrance. The sight itself was disturbing and unfathomable.
Yes, we were blessed because we were safe, but there was still something so sad to see this giant tree knocked down. Something that existed long before us, was now gone.
Hours passed. Paths were cleared and the realization of what towered above of us, was now somehow on our level.
Thanks to the team effort within our family, our surroundings somewhat passable and safe.
But still no phone signal.
It was getting dark, colder and the only information we had was via brief news intervals on the radio.
We started to accept just maybe, maybe, we needed to get the candles out and so, we did. It did start to feel romantic in some senses, and there was sense of communal gathering we had not experienced in some time. So, while there were some scatterings of a phone signal later that evening which enabled us to let those know in our life, that we were safe. It was still not enough though to get updates on everything else in the world.
All we had was each other. And when I say each other, I mean our signature family humour.
The radio was there too continually reminding us that we were one of many in this situation and various services were struggling immensely. It was then the lukewarm prosecco flowed and acceptance that we would have nothing but candlelight and radio before bed.
Did I mention it was cold? Because it was cold. So, gathering all in one room by the fire to keep warm had become a novelty, as well as a reality.
But I tried to find distraction in our living room. I read. I played dominos. I sang and danced to Whitney Houston love hour on the radio.
For a moment my nephew declared we needed to go and see the night sky. So, some of us did.
Initially what frightened me at first was how dark it was. There was no light at all. Nothing.
Did a town exist beyond our house? Where were the streetlights that proved it so?
Where was the evidence of the other people who lived there? Their homes? The lights that used to glisten at a distance, proof of worlds and lives beyond us seemed to be gone.
We knew we weren’t truly alone in dark and the cold that night, but without some form of electronic light why did it seem so?
Even when all we had was the night sky, when all we could see was stars upon stars. (Yes, some disgusting yellow/orange satellites too, but they don’t count IMHO). So many, it became impossible to count, impossible to know which constellation was which.
Like the tree that came crashing down the night before, we were once again reminded of how insignificant we were to the real multitudes of nature, the universe and the world.
Despite trying to truly enjoy this moment, our reliance to technology, electricity and the internet was still seeping through.
I realized then, before I knew the power outage would continue for another 34 hours, where we would go onto to losing our water and phone signal once again. But before I knew how much longer and tougher this time would become, I still tried to remain in the moment of the infinite, beautiful clear night sky.
And yet, I still had one disturbing thought.
Why was I, like so many, desperate to switch back on?
I debated setting up a Substack for some time. But I knew no one would read it. Maybe some out of politeness and curiosity. But from my blogging days of my 20s, I knew the reality that I was one of many. That I wasn’t famous or trendy or had a huge following, so what was the point.
Right?
But then I realized laying in the darkness that Friday night that I need to stop living in other people’s shadows and expectations, and I needed to do this for me. (Hence the title, but I will go into the details of that another time).
So, while now it’s Monday, the power has returned and so has our expectations to switch back on, I still don’t want to.
I also don’t have to.
I am aware of the world, I know the news and am very well versed, in how history is repeating itself. I am not hiding from it.
But this desire to switch on to things consistently has made me lose scope of what I used to enjoy. Who I used to be. What I truly am, and who I want to become.
So, with that and here at least, I am determined to switch off. Just for a little while.
And I hope, if you so wish that you could join me.