Feeling the fear

At what point does optimism give way to sadness or fear? I am ever the optimist, and when I lose that sense of hope, I am far from comfortable.

Last night I lay in bed listening to a raging storm. The wind battered the buildings so relentlessly that the night was one very long series of clatters, bangs and crashes.

Unable to sleep, my initial thoughts that, "This is alright, I'm sure it's perfectly normal for this time of year, Kunsang (our host) hadn't seemed unduly worried as he bade us goodnight," eventually gave way to more panicked imaginings: the door is going to burst open; the windows might shatter; the roof might fly off.

Which is when, in that long, dark night, with no electricity or heat, I found myself wondering, when does optimism get up and leave you? When do you discover you've gone from bad weather to a news report?

For the earthquake victims of Haiti, there was no warning, no time to panic. But there must have been people in Australia earlier this year and Pakistan last year, who watched the rain fall and fall, people who felt the optimism ("This rain will stop soon,") give way to fear, to blind panic, as their homes were washed away in torrent of muddy water.

So, as I lay in bed, fearing for the safety of my children, unsettled that Freya and Fergus were locked in another room, not under my protective wing, memories of a previous fear revisited me. The adrenalin shot through my veins, pounding into my heart, as I remembered 1993, Hurricane Gert, whose ferocious winds had ripped down the coast of Central America. At the time, Hamish and were residing in Tulum, in the shabbiest beach hut in all of Mexico. The storm had frightened us half to death as we had taken shelter in the corner of our hut, the corner where they crabs scuttled in every day. We had huddled together for warmth, not a dry piece of clothing between us as the horizontal wind and rain burst through the inadequate walls. That night we had wondered at point do we run, and where exactly do we run to? 

In the end, for us, the hurricane caused minimal damage, though it gathered speed as it raged down the coast, killing people in Honduras. And similarly the storm that battered McLeod Ganj brought no lasting harm to us other than a sleepless night, though it did rip the roof off the local hash dealer's house! But it did make me think, how lucky I am that I've never quite reached that point of flight or fight because my life depends upon it. And my heart goes out to those who have.

When I went into the kids in the morning, I asked them gently, "Were you frightened last night?"

"No!" they both replied, "It was so exciting! It was really dark and we thought we'd gone blind, and then we realised there was no electricity. It was wicked!"

Oh.