Strolling Through the Eye of the Hurricane
I’m not from Texas. Sometimes I wish I was, but I wrote the following piece for those uprooted and impacted by Hurricane Harvey that hit the Gulf Coast of Texas Friday evening.


I’ve always thought there was a resolve in Texans you can hardly find anywhere else. The way we carry ourselves and proudly identify ourselves in foreign lands, such as California or up the East Coast.
We’re friendly to strangers, we have faith, we talk straight and are proud of who we are.
After a blurry 24 hours I find myself stuffed into a plastic chair, rubbing elbows with a fella named Mac who managed to croak out a friendly, salt-of-the-earth “hey howareya” upon greeting as if left out on a shelf for too long — with dust particles undermining the sentiment.
Middle aged, matted brown hair tinged with grey and dark bag under his eyelids. It’s clear he’s been through a lot. Treading lightly, I decide to try my hand at small talk: “how ya been handling things?”
“Well, to tell you the truth, we’re still workin’ through it” he manages with his Texan drawl, like coarse rope burning through thick leather. “ — Been livin’ here all my life and it’s never been this bad. Flood here and there. But we been lucky, so I guess it’s just a mattera time…”
He considers this for a moment, straightens himself, sets his jaw and finishes with “But it’s nothin’ we can’t handle”.
I nod in agreement, as he continues “Lost m’house… News this mornin’ said there’s already been two billion in prop’ty damages alone” as he peered into his coffee cup, lost in its depths, “ — I’m just lucky I got m’family out in time.” As he smiles towards a middle-aged woman and three children to his right listening to our conversation.
I look over and I can’t help but notice a wave of guilt rushing over me like the rain and wind that’s punishing my hometown. I’m a young professional, I live with three 20-somethings just outside of Houston — we get drinks every now and then and we’re all friends — but right now, I don’t know where they are.
Facebook notifications have popped up on my newsfeed to assure me they’re safe.
So why do I feel so guilty?
I remind myself that my parents are also safe — I spoke to them 15 or 20 minutes ago — they’re safe and sound at my Grandfather’s in Dallas. They made the drive early morning Thursday once they heard the reports before the storms hit.
I wonder what they’re up to right now. Are they sitting at the old oak table, sharing a burnt pot of decaf coffee? Grandpa never did care much for coffee, so in his household, done coffee was good coffee. Nobody ever seemed to mind…
…I realize I’d been drifting off.
For the past 5 minutes? Maybe more, I can’t tell.
To my right I see Mac holding his young daughter. For the amount of worry and twisted features plastered on the faces of people in this lobby, hers is sweet and innocent, like she’s taking a stroll through the eye of the hurricane surrounding us.
They’re together as a family — no words are exchanged — but they’re simply there for each other. Silently. Thoughtfully. And suddenly, I realize where all this guilt came from.
For the past 3 years, I’d been living entirely for me. Work takes up the bulk of my weekdays, evenings I’m able to squeeze in an hourlong workout. My weekends are for catching up with friends and Sundays are for laundry and Game of Thrones. I visit my parents every few weeks, but is that enough? Do they know how much I love them?
Sitting here, I’m reminded of community—not a digital one—but a real one, and how it feels to be a part of something bigger than myself. I’m thinking about the sheer weight of being responsible for someone else’s life. I’m reminded of my family and the people I love. I’m reminded of the things I take for granted. And right now, that list feels long. Things like wi-fi, a nearby Walgreens or a dry place to sleep at night…
“Stop, stop” I tell myself. There’s no sense in dwelling. I close my eyes to take a deep breath, exhale, forcing myself to relax. “There’s gotta be some kind of breathing technique for this, right?”
I’m answered by the buzz of the room. The magnitude of the situation reverberating throughout the gymnasium in micro conversations concealed in hushed tones. Some people are somber. Most are distressed and some are panicked.
But there’s something else. It’s not loud, but I can feel it.
I sink into this thought and feel my body start to melt; the invisible strings of tension squeezing my muscles finally deciding to release their hostage, when I finally realized. It’s love. Holding loved ones, helping neighbors… Embracing strangers… Those who pray… Th…
Slowly, a blurry world comes into focus as I rub the crust from my eyes and there’s Mac, who’s daughter is sleeping soundly on his shoulder. He looks over, clasps his free hand around my shoulder and nods. I find myself saying:
“We’re gonna be just fine”
“Yesur, we are”
—J.P. Melanson
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Natural disasters can be hell on Earth, but it’s often in the banding together as people of a community where great strength and the beauty in human nature is uncovered. The extent to the damages is still unknown, but some estimates are as high as $40 billion. But if you would like to help out, here’s the link to donate to the many organizations and people currently working to help shelter and provide care to those impacted by Hurricane Harvey: https://weather.com/storms/hurricane/news/how-you-can-help-hurricane-harvey-victims
