Things Are Just Things.

This is my first big hurricane. 

If you don’t know, I live in Florida. A part of Florida that should hypothetically be safe from Hurricane paths, but this one is a beast, and she doesn’t seem to care much about that. If you haven’t been keeping up with the hurricane forecast, this has been its projected path over the last few days: This part of Florida. Okay, wait, this other part of Florida. Actually, all of Florida. Oh, it’ll miss Florida. Wait, nope, all of Florida again. Poor Florida. 

Grocery stores here have been out of water for days, gas is sold out now, it just feels eerie. Like you’re slowly waiting on something horrible to happen, but you don’t know where, or how bad, or when it’s happening. 

My parents called last night (I may be 25, but if you think I didn’t spend this week 100% waiting on my dad to tell me what to do about this hurricane, you don’t know me) and said that I should get my things together just in case the newest model is right and this town does get hit. 

I’m a sentimental person. I attach way too much value to everything not because of the stuff, but because of the memories along with it. 

But today, getting things together just in case this goes really bad, I don’t feel panicky over the potential loss of anything. Because for the last few days, I’ve had one thought rolling around and around in my mind: Things are just things, they can be replaced. 

Wednesday, watching the news, seeing pictures of my parents boarding their precious house up. Things are just things, they can be replaced. Yesterday, braving the grocery store and being taken aback by the apocalyptic feeling. Things are just things, they can be replaced. Opening instagram to find lots and lots of messages from friends opening their homes, just in case. Things are just things, they can be replaced. 

Now, writing this, Jack is asleep next to me, his little body pressed into my side. His tiny little chest moving up and down, up and down. Things are just things. 

Things are just things. 

Things are just things. 

Screw you, Irma. 

Stay safe, friends. xo