Lessons from the storm
I’m no stranger to the emotional storms of ADHD. As an adult with ADHD, I expect turbulence. I prepare for it. It’s my job to help other people do the same. But here’s something I didn’t anticipate: the very real storm that happened in Central Texas last week.
No one, with or without ADHD, was ready for this. With temperatures hovering around zero degrees, five inches of snow on the ground and nothing reliable in the way of power or water, we were all living in the immediate present, solving immediate problems--or not. For some period of time--maybe half a day--I held on to the hope that some municipal entity would come to the rescue. When it became clear that wasn’t going to happen, my wife Edie and I realized we would have to take care of ourselves.
Like a lot of other Texans, we were thrown into survival mode. Edie and I began with basics. Trying to insulate pipes. Moving into one room. Hanging blankets over doors and windows to retain heat. Wearing three or four layers of clothes at all times. Storing water in case a pipe burst or the city water failed. Sure enough, both those things happened. With no power, I was incapable of zooming with clients, as was Edie. We tried to take turns freaking out, to communicate as clearly as we could, to help each other calm down. At the end of each day, we were exhausted.
One of those ten-degree days, a neighbor knocked on our door. He and his partner were out of water and low on food, he said. He was wearing a short-sleeve shirt, jeans, lizard cowboy boots and a face mask--nothing even close to warm. Something about him reminded me of my late brother Ron, who had serious mental health problems. Twenty years ago, during a family beach vacation, I’d lent him a fleece jacket, because he just wasn’t capable of thinking prosaic thoughts such as “will I be warm enough? Should I pack a sweater?”
I was wearing that same jacket the day my neighbor came to ask for food and water. So I gave it to him, along with ten gallons of water, food from our freezer and two sleeping bags we’d been given as wedding presents 31 years ago.
There’s something clarifying about a real emergency.
