Finding Calm in the Storm

There’s something about storms that shakes me in a way nothing else does. It isn’t just the chaos or the unpredictability. It’s the feeling of being completely out of control, stuck in something bigger than me, and unable to do anything but hold on. And let me tell you, that fear isn’t new, it’s been with me for as long as I can remember.

When I was in 4K at Townsend Street Elementary, they showed us this video of a family running into a basement shelter during a tornado. The wind was howling, the house was shaking, and the parents looked like they were ready to throw their kids under the stairs as a last resort. That was it. Traumatized. Done. I was four years old, thinking, This is my life now. Tornadoes are coming for me.

It wasn’t The Wizard of Oz, but it might as well have been. That movie didn’t even make it onto my radar for years because one fake tube-sock tornado was still one too many. And then there was Discovery World. They had this tiny tornado simulator, a little funnel of wind in a glass dome. Kids were crowded around it, amazed, and there I was standing ten feet back thinking, You fools. That’s where it starts.

And don’t even get me started on tornado drills. If MPS announced one, I wasn’t going to school that day. I could handle math tests and cafeteria pizza, but tornado sirens? Nope. Hard pass. Fast forward to years later, when the West Allis tornado actually hit, my 41-year-old brain went into full 4K panic mode. See? I told you. Tornadoes are real, and they are still coming for me.

But storms aren’t just about the weather, are they? They’re about the chaos that hits when life throws everything at you at once. I’ve felt that way so many times, like I’m rowing against the wind with no end in sight.

There was a time when I was going through a lot, personally, professionally, all of it. And I went to this guy. I don’t want to call him a sponsor, because that wasn’t quite it. He wasn’t a mentor either, and calling him a friend doesn’t feel right. He was one of my go-to people, someone I trusted to be honest with me.

I told him what was going on, how heavy everything felt, and how badly I wanted to fix it. You know what he said? “Sometimes you just have to walk through the shit.” That’s it. That was the advice. And he wasn’t wrong. Life was happening, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. It sucked, and all I wanted was a band-aid to make it feel better. But there wasn’t one. There was no shortcut. The only option was to keep moving forward, one step at a time.

It sounds simple, right? Just walk through it. But man, I didn’t want to. I wanted something quick and easy. I wanted the storm to stop, the waves to calm, and everything to fall neatly into place. But that’s not how life works.

There’s a story I heard about people caught in a storm, struggling to make progress while rowing against the wind. They were terrified and overwhelmed, and then a calm voice said, “Take courage, it is I, do not be afraid.” That line has been sitting with me lately. It sounds so simple, but it isn’t easy to take courage when you’re in the middle of a storm. Fear has a way of shrinking everything, making the waves seem bigger and the boat seem smaller.

I’ve been reflecting on how often I miss the moments of calm because I’m too focused on the storm. I get caught up in trying to fix everything, to row harder, to make it through on my own strength. But the truth is, sometimes you just have to walk through it. The mess, the struggle, the chaos—it’s part of the process.

Art has been one of the places where I’ve learned to let go of control. When I start a piece, I want it to go a certain way. I want the colors to blend perfectly, the shapes to fit, and the whole thing to come together without any mistakes. But that’s not how it works. The process is messy. The mistakes are unavoidable. And yet, those mistakes often turn into the best parts of the piece.

I think life is like that too. The storms, the setbacks, the moments that feel like failures, they don’t cancel out the beauty. They become part of it.

I’ve been trying to learn what it means to let go in the middle of the storm. To stop trying to fight the wind on my own and to trust that the help I need is already there, even if it doesn’t look the way I expect.

Maybe it’s not about stopping the storm. Maybe it’s about finding the courage to walk through it. Maybe it’s about hearing that quiet voice that says, “Take courage. Do not be afraid.”

I don’t have all the answers, and I don’t think I’m supposed to. But what I know is that the calm is always there, waiting to be noticed, even when the wind is howling.

Maybe that’s enough. Actually, I think it’s more than enough.