These past few weeks have churned up a lot of stuff. Have you noticed?
From Supreme Court decisions and presidential debates to this literal hurricane that just hit Houston, people are reeling.
Two notable Austin personalities died within a week of each other. Frank’s been sick with pneumonia, and Willie Nelson almost missed his July Fourth picnic. Health has never felt more valuable, and the fact that we’re never guaranteed another day has never been more clear.
I did a little livestream the other day on Instagram about how it feels to grieve when it’s hot outside.
To worry about humanity when we’re supposed to be frolicking on vacation.
To go through the dark night of the woods in broad daylight.
Although my day-to-day life has been stressful with Frank being sick, he’s doing much better now, and I’ve been thoroughly enjoying my work — getting the zine ready to go out in the mail, working with my organizing client on an epic closet overhaul, planning a big road trip with Avery later this month.
I had three or four other options for what I wanted to publish today, but I just couldn’t hit send on any of them with what’s been going on, especially now with Beryl.
And it got me thinking about the idea of the “near miss.”
In the military, this term is used to describe a strike that misses its target but hits close enough to cause damage. In the workforce, a near miss is an accident “that you instinctively recognize at the moment,” OSHA says. “It usually comes with a surge of adrenaline and relief.”
For a few days last week, we thought Beryl might come straight through Austin, delivering much-needed, drought-breaking rain, as much as a foot of it.
The kind of rain that people in Central Texas dream about.
The kind of rain that is now Houston’s nightmare.
When the forecast changed and we weren’t going to get the rain — we haven’t had a drop since the storm made landfall just a couple of hundred miles away — you could feel the collective disappointment. We need that rain as much as Houston didn’t, but there’s not a thing we can do about it.
Just like so much else that’s going on, we’re at the mercy of what’s happening out of our control. Not any one of us can change what happens politically or which of our friends will get the next round of bad news or how many hurricanes are to come this season.
Even if we aren’t the ones taking the direct hit doesn’t mean we aren’t affected. The proximity of the near miss can put our world in its own tailspin.
As I read about a million people in Houston still without power, I think about that terrible week we went without last year.
I read tributes on Facebook about a hometown hero back in Missouri who died unexpectedly last week and think about my dad.
I reach out to my friend going through a divorce and marvel that it’s only been a decade since mine.
I’m really feeling that ripple effect today and thought maybe you were, too.
I feel grateful to have some projects that I can focus on to take me away from some of these heavier things happening all around me, but I wanted to lean into them for a moment here before going back to my own little world of stuffing zines into envelopes and chasing down sources for stories that aren’t about life or death situations.
It’s the “sweep sweep” work that one of my Al Anon friends talks about. “It’s like sweeping a driveway,” she says. Just taking care of one thing at a time and focusing on the square foot in front of you.
One of my “sweet sweep” activities today is taking my son and his friend out for an afternoon adventure. A few days ago, we thought we’d be hunkered down today because of a hurricane, but now it’s seemingly just another summer weekday and I’m just another parent trying to keep her kid on the right track amid all the other storms going on.
But it’s not just another day.
It’s a near miss day that, today, is really hitting home.
If you’re feeling helpless about Beryl, the Texas Tribune has a list of organizations that have mobilized to help folks who are affected by the hurricane. The Houston Food Bank, the Red Cross, and a group called Texans on a Mission are on the ground helping move supplies and clean up trees.
Thanks to Invisible Thread subscribers for their continued support of this newsletter, which allows me to change up my editorial calendar and share posts like this. It wasn’t what I had planned this week, but that’s OK, thanks to subscriptions from folks like you.
I’m off to make a donation to the Houston Food Bank. It doesn’t feel like much, but I know it will help feel like something.
Back soon,
Addie