Storm Stories
The texts from my Midwest friends came in like a flood. “Are you ok? Are you going to evacuate? How bad is it?”
Wait, wait?
I was at an Airbnb in Florida. My condo was about 150 yards from the beach, so I used the context clues and guessed that a storm was brewing. I opened a trusted weather app, and sure enough, a massive storm was headed right for me. I hadn’t seen anything on the news, the locals weren’t talking about it, and my Airbnb host hadn’t checked in with me. I wasn’t sure how concerned I should be.
A few hours later, I drove to Tampa for a couple of speaking engagements. The clouds were rolling in, the wind had picked up, and I watched the palm trees sway from side to side, bending like rubber. It was the middle of the day, but the darkness of the sky painted a different picture.
After two successful workshops, I made my way to the meeting room for my final event. I set up my computer, and a young man entered the room. He shared that he would be the one to introduce me.
We both sat at a table on the main stage and checked our phones while we waited for the attendees to arrive. It was at that time that I heard him say, under his breath, “No one is talking about this storm.”
My head spun to the right, and I said, “Yeah, what's the deal with this storm? I am from the Midwest and don’t know how worried I should be. I’ve got an Airbnb on the beach. Should I be concerned?”
He shared that while he now lives out west, he grew up in Florida, and that got my full attention. He explained how the temperature of both the water and the air would limit the power of this storm. Then he talked about the direction and speed it was moving and described in great detail how this storm would play out.
I was captivated that he knew so much about tropical storms. I had a resident expert at my disposal. However, I may have gotten a little too comfortable because – without much thought – I asked, “So, should I be worried about my car? Like, is it going to float away? Do I need to evacuate?”
He looked at me to gauge my seriousness and replied, “Ohhhhh no, it’s just going to rain for like 12 to 18 hours. You’ll be fine.” He went on to say that the real issue would be flooding on the roads in low-lying areas. He shared that the roads near the Tampa airport often flood. He was concerned about people from this convention being able to make their flights on time.
I exhaled and told him I was comfortable with tornados, but storms that include massive amounts of water scare me. He laughed and said that tornados scare him.
The moment wasn’t lost on me; for my new friend, tropical storms were no big deal. He was familiar with how they worked and what damage they would do. In contrast, I was familiar with tornados, and I understand how to proceed in a Midwestern storm.
Tornados scared him. Tropical storms scared me.
There have been things in my life that have been like storms. Moments that felt like a tornado ripping through my life, leaving a path of destruction. Others felt like a tropical storm that lingered and kept dumping challenges on me. And there have been seasons when it felt like the earth below my feet – that which grounds me – was shaking.
Storms come, and storms go. When a storm is familiar, it isn’t so difficult, but new storms – the ones we haven’t experienced before – are scary.
This is one aspect of getting older that I appreciate. I have navigated a lot of storms, and I now have the opportunity to share those experiences with others. There is something life-giving about saying to someone – in their moment of fear or crisis – “Oh, that happened to me too; let me talk you through this. I got you.”
As a result, I get frustrated with leaders who paint a picture that they have never been through a storm and that life has been flawless and easy for them.
I want to follow leaders who have storm stories – those who have faced moments of fear and felt scared, the leaders who’ve had moments of uncertainty when they weren’t sure how things would play out. The ones who have experienced their own storms are the leaders who can best walk with me through my storms.
So, the next time a tornado rips through your life, a hurricane brings lingering pain and suffering, or the earth shakes beneath your feet, find someone who has been there before.
People with storm stories know the road to safety, and when we are faced with a new storm, the last thing we need is to seek safety on our own.
Get your “Lightbulb Moments!” Your email arrives every other Wednesday filled with insights I ONLY share with my private clients … and YOU!