The closest to being in control we will ever be is in that moment that we realize we're not.
Brian Kessler

Challenge Update (Thursday and Friday): I woke up this morning groggy, with a headache. I'm not a drinker; I don't know what a hangover feels like, but I imagine it must be something like this. The last two days have been an emotional tightrope walk: how high will the waters come? When will the river crest? If we're at 29' and the river reaches 31', what does that mean for our basement?
It's a sad thing to realize your own selfishness. My home is dry, tight, and cozy even after two days of the river rising to within a block of where we live. People I know have had to evacuate; their homes, their stuff, their lives are being dirtied and destroyed by river water. And all I am worried about is my home, my stuff, my life.
I wanted desperately this morning to make a list. I want to feel productive, in control somehow, of some small thing. The last couple of days, actually the last couple of weeks, have been upside-down. It's not just the flooding; it's a whole lot of other stuff (and people) that I can't control. I want to feel like I can control something. The rising water, the uncertainty, the powerlessness of any of us to do more than pile a few sandbags: we are small. We are so helpless.

Pushing through fear is less frightening than living with the underlying fear that comes from a feeling of helplessness.
Susan Jeffers

So we keep pushing on. I've been an onlooker more than anything: in life, in relationships, in a crisis like this most recent one where neighbors and friends are displaced. Onlooker is the same as victim. Helpless.

But getting involved is scary. If I participate, I might get hurt. I might lose something, like myself. I might mess things up. I might make it worse. I might find that I am as helpless as I feel from the outside.

Or, I might find that I am not so helpless after all.

Better Life Tip: Try.