The recent power failures showed me how dependent my family
is on screen time. We were positively twitchy without our Netflix and e-readers
to entertain us, our Internet news to inform us, and our Facebook and Instagram
feeds to hashtag our experiences and share it with people far away.
The blackout made me contemplate how simply people must have
lived when darkness came at four in the afternoon and could not be chased away
with lamps. The blackout revealed to us again and again the kindness of our
neighbours who checked in on us to make sure we were safe. The water running
from our sinks was frigid, but it reminded me that at least our water is clean
and potable, something that 780 million people around the world do without,
according to data from the World Health Organization and UNICEF. Thanks to the
blackout, I remembered how flattering candlelight is, how pleasant old
paperback pages smell, and that keeping some processed food in the house is not
a terrible idea when your stove and microwave don’t work. Hello, beautiful
Oreos!
We told ourselves these things to foster an attitude of
gratitude and to get us through a very boring, and shivery day. Events like
these can have a humbling, medicinal effect on our busy, privileged,
first-world lives. It forced us to just be with one another and to experience
quiet, which we don’t always realize is in short supply these days.
Then the electricity returned and instantly our hiatus from
the modern world was over. We ran as fast as we could to our I-Pads, cellphones
and laptops. We luxuriated in hot showers, baked bubbly, fragrant meals, and
slipped back into our comfortable bubble of safety and warmth. It’s easy to
forget how quickly Mother Nature can pop that bubble should she feel like it.
It’s easy to forget the struggles of the developing world when surrounded by
the comforts of our own. It’s easy for
us to forget to be quiet and still, until dramatic circumstances make us take
the time to count our blessings and realize how very lucky we are.
