Typhoon threat to my move was teachable moment

Irecently moved. It wasn’t a very big move distance wise, just from the West Shore to downtown Victoria. In terms of how it felt, though, I may as well have been moving to another continent. I hadn’t moved in nearly a decade and the whole process felt foreign and as if I was launching myself into this huge, gaping unknown. Faced with that, I did what I always do when in unfamiliar territory: I tried to control everything.

I obsessively researched movers, determined to avoid becoming one of those people profiled by The Fifth Estate who get ripped off by bad moving companies. I called around to change my address so far ahead of time that some computer systems wouldn’t allow it and I had to call back closer to my move date.

Everything that could be packed in advance was in a box three weeks out. This was driven by a recurring fear that I’d leave something behind, such as a toilet brush, and upset the people who were moving into my old place. Yes. You read that correctly. I obsessed about forgetting a toilet brush.

I did all of this to stay in control, to keep chaos from descending. That would not happen, I vowed. Not on my watch. I was prepared, had thought of everything, and nothing bad would happen. Nope. Not at all. I was covered. I was exhausted and wrung out, but I was covered.

I believed this right up until Environment Canada began issuing warnings that the remnants of a typhoon would hit Victoria the day of my move.

I remember reading that online and feeling the panic begin to rise. But then I paused, and laughed. A typhoon. Of course. I had been trying to control everything, figuring that was the only way I’d have a stress-free move. So, of course, a typhoon would be barrelling down on Victoria. The weather, after all, being the ultimate factor nobody can control.

“Hah,” I said to the Divine. “OK. I get it. You win.” And I could have sworn I felt a chuckle in reply.

Now, I’m not saying there was a cosmic hand in the weather that was predicted for my moving day. But, I also believe the Divine does not miss an opportunity for a teachable moment.

I can get so wrapped up in preventing some unknown bad thing from happening, that my spirit gets squeezed, like a sponge. I wring out my sense of the Divine and of my connection to a presence bigger than myself — a presence holding me in love and tenderness and gentleness.

A presence that, in every moment, invites me to let go, open up, sense the connection to mystery that is always there, waiting.

Sometimes, that invitation needs to be a typhoon. Because apparently that’s how the Divine rolls. And subtle might not always get my attention. Maybe, one day, all it will take is the whisper of the wind over one blade of grass. I live in hope of that.

It might take a couple more typhoons, though.

In case you’re wondering, the move went well. It was stressful and exhausting and went haywire in ways I hadn’t predicted. But the typhoon, as you no doubt know, kind of fizzled and was a nonevent, really.

Which, when you think about it, is kind of perfect.