Shaking and Rattling the Nerves

I live in California.  We have earthquakes.

We had one last night.  

My 6 year-old nephew Troy was spending the night, while Abi was spending the night with my niece  Brienna.  The little boys were excited to be having a sleepover, in bed, but still awake.  They were jolted out of bed, or out of tent as it were.  We had spent a good 20 minutes building a tent in the living room for them to sleep in.  Next to a brick fireplace.

As far as earthquakes go, this one was only moderate.  A few people had pictures fall off of their walls, but there was no damage, and no injuries.  Just a reminder that there's a little bit of instability afoot.  Or, under foot.

This morning Adam had a doctor appointment.  Hugo went to work.  Life goes on.  I left Lee, and Troy, at home with Tessa and Danielle so that the little boys could play.  And also because it ended up being a really late night last night.  They needed to lay low.

While Adam and I were sitting in the doctor office waiting room, another earthquake hit.

Really?!  

It was about the same size as the one last night, and not as deep.  To be away from home was grueling.

My poor sister.  She knew Adam had the appointment, and she knew Troy would be staying home with the girls.  When earthquakes hit, we always wonder.  Is it over?  Or, is this a fore shock for the big one?  It's hard to be separated from your loved ones when there is so much foundational ambiguity.

Every last one of us Californians have been raised hearing the warnings that The End is near.  When I was a teenager, a seismologist came to our town and predicted that The Big One would strike within 30 years.  I remember thinking, Wow.  I'll be in my forties.  Old.  

Now that I'm well into my forties, I'm now thinking, tick-tick-tick.  Not because I'm ticking into my old age, but rather, I'm thinking that we're a ticking time-bomb, living on a ground hungry to swallow us up whole.

And it doesn't help, that there is always an expert somewhere telling us what the end for us is going to look like.  We have heard that our state is going to fall into the Pacific Ocean.  Or that our ground is going to liquefy.  That our roads will collapse, supplies will be short, and the patience of a heavily populated group of people will be even shorter.

It's killing me.

It doesn't take a jolt to rattle my nerves.  Sadly, I'm easily rattled.  But, when the ground gets to shaking, my knees liquefy just as much as I fear the ground might.

Anxiety sucks.

I can apply what I know from working a 12-step program, and I can recite the part of the Serenity Prayer that says something about accepting the things I cannot change.  I can't change the fault lines under my house.  Or under my sister's house, or Hugo's office, or the roads that separate us.

And about having the courage to change the things I can.  I went to the store today, and I casually bought some bottled water.  Just in case.  Check.  I made sure we were well supplied.  Check.

Yes, every ground-shaking truck that passes, and every aircraft rumble overhead makes me wonder.  But, at least I can seriously rest in what I know I know.  Like, that in spite of it being 2012, at least it isn't December 21, right?  Just kidding.  Well, no, I'm seriously sure it isn't December 21.  But, what I know lies deeper.  Deeper than the fault lines.  I know that there is a bigger plan for this world, and in spite of earthquakes, tornadoes, hurricanes, and forest fires, life will go on.  Maybe not my life.  I might be floating in the Pacific with the former skyscrapers of Los Angeles.  But, life does go on, and it somehow gives me comfort knowing that.  That I'm here for a greater purpose, and that greater purpose is greater than me.  It's a relief, actually.

So, in the meantime, Lee and Troy play in the hot summer sun, Abi and Bri do whatever it is teenage girls do, and I start making dinner.

And I make the most of my life, living one day at a time, enjoying one moment at a time.