Earthquakes & Aftershocks

I am a big fan of Taylor Swift. Say what you will about her voice, her music, her serial dating…girlfriend knows how to turn her complicated, abstract emotions into beautiful, articulate lyrics that speak to the soul of any girl who’s had her heart broken. I envy her that particular ability. I love to write (forgive me for stating what I hope is the obvious), but I find it almost impossible to properly describe my heartache. It seems too big, too complicated, too elusive to accurately put into words. But then tonight, sitting in bed, I had my Taylor Swift moment. I suddenly had the words.

It’s like an earthquake. It throws you off balance, disorients you, makes everything you thought was secure become terrifyingly flimsy. Everything you worked so hard to put together, all the details and order of your life, is thrown into disarray and chaos. For some people it only takes one earthquake before they move on in an attempt to find some place without tremors, where the earth doesn’t pull itself out from under them without warning. Others try to ride it out. They put everything, each picture frame, book and vase, back in its proper place. Some will take measures to protect themselves against future damage. Move to a safer building, buy a generator, keep bottled water handy. They know there will be future earthquakes, so they do their best to be prepared.

And then there are those of who have lived so long in the realm of earth-shattering days that we know the patterns well enough to avoid surprise…most of the time. We know to expect the aftershock. People think the earthquake is the scary part, and of course it is. Your world collapses, and you’re never sure until its over whether or not you’ll be able to put it back together. But what is even more terrifying is the idea of putting everything back in order, managing to feel secure and calm again, and being completely blind sighted by the aftershock. Suddenly you find yourself back in the shattered chaos, just when you thought you were safe again. But if you know it’s coming, it isn’t nearly as traumatic. If you know to expect another round of disorienting fear and pain, you can prepare yourself, and at the very least avoid the added pain of surprise.

Maybe you’re like me and have lived for years in an area prone to earthquakes…some so small you barely notice, others so big you look at the rubble and are unable to see the remnants of the past or any hope for the future. You become so accustomed to the sickeningly cyclical pattern of rebuilding, normality, and destruction that you forget there is any other kind of existence. Doesn’t everyone live this way? In a way we do. But there is a difference between those who experience the occasional, inevitable disaster, and those who choose to plant themselves in the middle of the danger zone.

So what do you do? Do you keep living in the danger zone? Or do you decide, finally, that enough is enough, pack up your life and leave the rubble behind? The world is never going to stop shaking, but anyone could tell you the fault lines aren’t suited to longevity. I’ve decided I’m moving away from the danger zone. I can’t live in a glass house built on a fault line and expect anything but shards and splinters. Maybe it’s possible to build an earthquake-proof house…but you can’t do it alone. I can’t do it alone.