When the Lights Went Out

On Monday 28 April, my wife and I were driving to the gym in Spain. When we arrived, we were informed that the electricity was out.

So we walked across the road to the mechanic. Our car needed new tyres. He said he could not send or receive any messages.

Then someone else told us the water supply was cut off.

Immediately, people started talking. Some said it might be a cyber attack.

It is fascinating to observe how the human mind and our nervous system responds to situations like this. We often catastrophize. If someone had simply said, “… for the next 13 hours you will have no electricity or water, and after that everything will be back to normal…”, there would have been no panic.

But what caused people to feel unsettled was the experience of not knowing. The uncertainty. The quiet fear many carried:

What if this does not get fixed?

What if it continues for days?

How long until chaos begins?

No one knew what was happening. The president came on the battery-powered radio and declared a national emergency, urging everyone to stay calm. He said they were working around the clock to resolve this.

In my mind, a few things arose:

Fuck… what about my clients. I could not reach my team or anyone. One day of rescheduling creates a cascade of changes that can take weeks to recover from. My wife and I even considered driving eight hours north where we heard there was electricity, but we were not sure.

So I entered primal warrior mode. I grabbed a bucket, walked to the sea in front of us and filled it with seawater. 

My wife lit candles in our apartment. We prepared dinner using whatever was about to go bad in the fridge and sat down, one tall candle between us. It felt romantic.

Later, we went out onto the balcony. No streetlights. The night sky was ablaze like I had never seen it before.

We lay back on our lounges. Our little dog Cara was next to us, completely unbothered by the events. For her, nothing had changed.

We looked up at the sky and talked about life. About how deeply grateful we are for our union. At that moment, nothing mattered more than the fact that we were together.

I felt protective. Like a warrior guarding a sacred treasure. We brought water to someone who needed it. I was alert. Watching. Aware.

Could there be any threat to my wife?

I thanked the universe that she was next to me and that I could protect her.

And I meant it when I thought: I would fight to my very last breath for my wife.

In the middle of the night, the lights came back. The water returned. People outside shouted with joy. Viva España.

My wife and I looked at each other. We both felt it — we were meant to experience this. It brought us closer, made us more grateful.

When you have no water and do not know when supply will return, the first drop when it is back feels like divinity touching your skin.

Electricity. Wifi. A phone signal. You feel pure gratitude for it.

This thought occurred to me:

We only feel true gratitude for something when it is no longer there.

This experience gave me a deeper appreciation for life. For what is here. For what is now.

Do not take the little things for granted.

Reflection:

What are the elements of your life you can appreciate more?

Your beloved?

Your pet?

Access to clean water? To fresh food?

Appreciation breathes love into what we do and experience.

It shifts our energy.

It brings us home.

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