View this post on Instagram
“Have you heard of the burnt toast theory?” asked the host at Hart & Soul Cafe with her sweet and slow southern drawl that reminded me, I wasn’t in Wisconsin anymore.
“Ya know when you’re runnin’ late in the morn so you figure you’ll just make a quick breakfast? Well, after poppin’ a few pieces of bread in the toaster you remember you have four other things to do and bah the time you run back to the toast, it’s charred to the crisp.
You’re not gonna ate that burnt toast. No ma’am! Instead, you make more and within tha extra ten minutes it took, you realize it may have saved ya from somethin’, lac a car accident happenin’. Or lemme tell ya, you might even git to run into something better.”
Popping an ice cube into my mouth, I recalled back to earlier that morning.
My twisted body woke up inside a rental car parked outside of Friendship Church because I was seeking higher ground. It wasn’t necessarily in a “godly” sense. I had, however been praying to weather gods for Hurricane Helene to ease its way through so that I could too.
It was my first time in the North Carolina mountains. The plan was to attend a writers retreat with New York Times best-selling author, Brianna Madia at The Art of Living Retreat Center in Boone. The intention was to hopefully break through some real sharp fears that’d been surfacing around storytelling and sharing my voice.
After a delayed flight, I landed at Charlotte Airport and followed directions heading north. Passing fallen down trees and flashing blue and red emergency lights, I zipped over powerlines and anchored my way around narrow roads with occasional guardrails hanging over mountain sides.
According to my GPS, I ended up just over three miles away from the retreat center before encountering a gate with a sign saying, “Road Closed.”
The GPS rerouted me down a backroad when my stomach dropped. Sand and trees and garbage and rocks were being pushed by a tremendously powerful force of water. That water. It seemed to come down shamelessly without end.
There was no way me or my rental car were making it through the washed-out path ahead.
Backing up the long and windy road, I drove slowly through a thick fog that covered the surrounding air. I didn’t want to give up hope of reaching this destination of mine and yet the lines in the road were becoming harder to see.
As the wind and rain picked up, I found myself at a crossroads between Aho Road and Friendship Church Road. Reaching a turning point between both risk and potential, change was imperative. I took a right turn and headed up the hillside until reaching a flat landing with a white-framed sign that read “Friendship Church.”
“Flash Flood Warnings” started popping up on my phone with spotty cell service.
“This is an extremely dangerous and life-threatening situation. Do not attempt to travel tonight unless you are fleeing an area subject to flooding or under an evacuation order.”
Every part of my being wanted to keep moving and yet I couldn’t go forwards or backward.
I just sat there watching the storms surround me.
A couple of deer began galloping down the adjacent hill. And then a few more. They were headed for the flooding stream below. As they got next to the water and put their feet in, they began to playfully dance and splash in and out of it.
These deer wouldn’t have stuck around if they had sensed any degree of danger nearby, would they?
My eyes widened. My heart strings softened. I asked myself if I too could anchor down just awhile longer to find a steady stillness in a simple surrender.
Gathering layers of clothing from my suitcase and the head cushion off the seat, I made a makeshift pillow. I tried to go easy on my water bottle intake even though the outhouse for relieving my bladder had quite a view.
I rationed what was left from my airport food including two avocados, a bruised pear and freshly picked red garden carrots. There was also a whole unopened bag of pistachios that I couldn’t wait to tear into. My body was craving the fat after realizing I hadn’t eaten a real meal in over 24 hours and was functioning on less than two hours of sleep.
I eventually fell asleep and when the sun started to glisten its way into the car windows in the morning, it dawned on me that I’d made it through the dark night.
It was quiet.
The deer returned.
The skies settled and cleared along with any lingering ounce of fears that I was holding onto too.
Heading back towards Charolette, I passed closed gas stations, grocery stores and ATM’s. Not much was open. It didn’t matter because I knew Hart & Soul Cafe was.
Entering into the one room bustling diner felt like stepping into a portal of possibility.
My waitress was like a human lighthouse as she turned her hotspot on for me to search for any possible lodging upgrades from the rental car. After three hours of searching with a little journaling and theologizing in between, I found a cozy Airbnb with a sign above the bed that said, “Home is where you are.”
Over the next days, living in a state of emergency became an emerging catalyst to creating my own makeshift writer’s retreat.
The retreat didn’t consist of daily yoga and meditation classes, but I’d mindfully move and stretch when my body desired to.
The retreat didn’t consist of an all-inclusive Ayurvedic meal schedule, but when I was hungry, I’d open a can of beans and warm it with a corn tortilla on my little heater along with a pot of water. It always seemed to be minutes before the power would go back out or a boil water advisory would come into effect.
In moments like this, I’m reminded of the power in the pause; to tune inward and listen to what the heart and soul have to say.
What if the cafe host hadn’t paused from sweeping the floor around us?
What if she hadn’t followed her curiosity to ask what I’d been journaling about in the diner booth?
Setting down my pen, I glanced up at her tired, kind eyes and no longer felt alone.
“Trusting the adventure,” I gleamed. We breathed into a state of presence. It was there that I then became enlivened by the told theory around some burnt toast.
I don’t know what would’ve happened if I’d made a left turn instead of a right turn that day. What I do know is that this benevolent universe always has me find higher ground in more ways than one.
For starters, I’m coming back to shaking off any loose old clinging habits and beliefs.
I’m coming back to asking what fear has to teach me.
I’m coming back to breaking through barriers of busyness, resistance and persistent writer’s block.
And finally, after letting go of waiting for some perfect time other than the one right in front of me, I’ve begun to write.
~
Read 2 Comments and Reply
Read 2 comments and reply