Forty-one and a half hours ago, my house caught on fire.
Eventually, I’ll get over losing all my stuff. One day, I won’t look for the emergency exit first thing upon entering a building. But for now, the feeling is both surreal and hyper-real at the exact same time. It’s other people on the news who are the ‘displaced residents.’ It’s never you. I’ve wondered recently if more people win the lottery than lose their house in a fire.
But now it is me. I’m the displaced resident being assisted by the Red Cross at noon today. It’s my bedroom on fire in the news helicopter’s photos. That’s my bed filled with soot and debris.
That’s the surreal part. The hyper-real part is that I have stopped fretting about the little things, for at least a few days. In meditation, they call it ‘monkey mind’ or the ‘drunken monkey.’ Usually, my brain is processing my day, planning for the next day, fretting about the previous day, worrying about gaining weight, wondering if I’ll have enough retirement, etc etc etc. Right now, I just want a pair of shoes that isn’t covered in asbestos and soot.