Reflections on a rather eventful holiday weekend

My husband used a rake to smash through our neighbor’s window while I corralled his two dogs in the yard. Black clouds burned in our nostrils and swirled violently around the jagged glass. We heard the smoke detectors beeping and the wail of sirens. Thank God the fire department was almost here.

After he emptied the last of the two fire extinguishers that we had in our house, my husband stood back and looked around. There was nothing to do but to wait until the firefighters arrived. The flames hadn’t been fully extinguished, only knocked back, and were starting to lick up the kitchen walls belonging to our neighbor, and dear friend.

These moments were terrifying.

But, 30 minutes later, the fire was out. The three cats were found in the house, perfectly fine. Our neighbor had been on an errand when it happened.

And now, life is totally upside down for him. No place to live, almost nothing to wear, everything changed in a moment.

But the only thing on all of our minds is this:

We are just so happy that everyone is OK.

Because when it comes down to it, that’s the stuff that matters. It’s not actual stuff, but the people (and critters) that we care about.

I know I’m not saying anything that hasn’t been said before. Tragedy, especially when it hits close to home, sharpens our focus, allowing us to adjust the dials on things like contentment. In the face of ruined goods and a house that will need major repairs to be livable, life gets paired back to the basics.

And the basics are often centered around relationships.

I witnessed first hand how many people came to help my neighbor. His friends and family rallied around him, staying to help late into the night. He has a couch to sleep on and clothing to wear. There are places for his dogs and cats to go for the time being. And, over and over again, there were arms to embrace him in his time of need.

As he waits for the repair estimates to come in, he has come back to the house to sift through what remains. He told me, on one such trip, that he plans on throwing out most everything, only keeping the essential and the sentimental.

I thought about my own house. I thought about what I have and what I need. I thought about what I hold onto and what I let go. I thought about living in a culture that insists we need more stuff.  I thought about the cultural narratives that our stuff is an important part of communicating who we are.

But, what does having stuff really do for us? If a life is built on the foundation of having stuff, and that stuff goes away, where do you land? If that stuff is your image, your personality, your currency, what happens when it’s not there anymore?

And more importantly, did getting the stuff result in sacrificing community connections? Did stuff outrank relationships?

In the past, I know I built my life around getting certain types of stuff. Which meant that I spent much of my time working to earn money to buy the stuff and not enough time cultivating connections to others. As life progressed, and hardships arose, I often found that I was alone in my pain.

It wasn’t until my mid-thirties that I started to figure this out. Because that’s around the time that I became too overwhelmed to cope on my own. I realized that all of my stuff wasn’t as comforting as an embrace when times got tough.

(Many of the reasons for this behavior is likely owing to early childhood experiences, but that’s a topic for another day.)

As I enter into the second half of life, my approach is morphing. Cultivating relationships is at the top of my list of priorities. As I spend time connecting with friends and participating in groups and clubs, I realize just how much I was missing out on all of those years. Sure, I may not have the latest and greatest stuff, but I have a level of contentment with what I do have.

I am happy to make dinner with friends. I’m happy to grab a cup of coffee and be ready to listen. And, I’m happy that I can house my neighbor’s three adorable, yet slightly smoky, feline friends. If the situation was reversed, I know he’d do the same for me.

Tragedy needs community. But so does normal life, because things can change in an instant, we all know that. All any of us can do is be present and content in this instant, to be a friend in this instant. Because there are only so many of these instants that we get.