I didn’t have the Texas winter storm that bad.
In fact I was remarkably lucky. It could have been so much worse.
In June 2020 I took my first lockdown getaway, a two-night stay in Dripping Springs. It felt great to get out of town, if not all that far away, and sequester myself someplace else.
Days, weeks and months dragged on. I realized I needed to get away again.
With little else to do Thanksgiving weekend, and feeling the crush of being stuck in my apartment, I reserved an Airbnb in Wimberly for the three nights of Presidents’ Day weekend.
By that Friday the weather was already spotty. I knew I’d be taking a risk, but I thought a worst-case scenario would be having to stay an extra night and returning Tuesday morning.
I’ll never forget the storm that Sunday night. I was staying in the upstairs cottage of a working farm. I was far more secluded than I’d ever been in any kind of storm, especially a snowstorm.
The wind whipping sleet against the cottage structure was noisy and relentless. Gusts rattled windows well into the night. Trying to sleep, I didn’t want to imagine what it must have felt like out there. This was a winter storm the likes of which I’d not heard.
It was then, for the first time, that I realized getting out of this storm unscathed was unlikely.
But again, like I said, I had it easy. The Airbnb I rented was far bigger (and nicer) than my apartment, had all wood floors, a modern bathroom, a super comfortable bed and the best Airbnb kitchen (layouts, tools and supplies) I’ve ever seen.
Best of all, it had a back-up generator that automatically kicked in whenever the power went out — which it did, repeatedly over the next several days, but on a cycle, as if the outages were controlled.
This is why I was lucky. My apartment in Austin lost power completely from early Sunday morning through Wednesday afternoon. At my Airbnb, I was never without electricity or heat.
I was, however, stranded.
While only a few miles from town, I was on a farm deep in the Hill Country, spotted among hilly, curvy back roads. For days I couldn’t see the driveway leading off the property. The Airbnb had been rented to other customers that week, so I faced the possibility of being forced to leave.
But those customers couldn’t get to where I was any more than I could leave.
I finally departed Saturday morning. After rationing a carton of eggs and loaf of bread, my food had just about run out. I was wearing clothes for a second time and third time through.
But the rising sun and temperatures finally cleared the roads.
When I arrived back in my place, snow two feet high remained on my shaded back deck. By Sunday morning that was gone, too.
What remained, though I did not see it at the time, were the scars and trauma of that experience, the realization of how little control over my circumstances and well-being I really had.
Let’s Be Honest. What, Really, Can I Actually Control?
What does it mean to have power? To have agency over your environment, and what you can and cannot do?
We go through life thinking we’re in control of our actions, of what happens to us, yet inevitably, we get reminded, repeatedly, there is so much we can’t control. So much we don’t have the power to change or influence.
A few weeks ago I was on a flight back home. The plane pulled out of the gate, but the pilot told us there was a warning light on, which required us to return to the gate so the maintenance crew could inspect it.
How long would it take? We will have to get off the plane? Will I miss my connection? All reasonable questions — none of which I could answer, much less control.
Unlike the condition of the airplanes I ride in, there are, fortunately, many things in my life I can control.
One of them is my diet. I have total control over what food I eat and when. Circumstances, both my access to an array of markets and restaurants and my financial security, allow me this kind of power over my body.
But not everyone is as fortunate.
There are millions who are hungry or food insecure, wondering where their next meal will come from — and how they will get it. They do not have the power to fully control what they eat and when. They are powerless, or have less power, over something I can control completely.
We’re seeing, all around us, constant reminders — so constant, I wonder sometimes, if it’s too much to handle and to digest — of how powerless we can be in this world.
Our Lack of Power: Depressing or Humbling?
Aren’t we now only just emerging from more than a year of witnessing how much is out of our control — how much of the societal ebb and flow of the pandemic remains outside our individual power to sway?
The story of the lived experience of the pandemic, beyond the virus itself and the physical and health consequences of it, was how our society operated — and fell apart — during a time when the status quo was strained like never before.
We attempted, in flailing and ludicrous ways, to define who was essential and who was not.
Alas, many of those upon whom the designation essential was bestowed, those who worked somewhere in the supply chains of our economy and lives of comfort — truck drivers, mail and package deliverers, cashiers, factory workers, crop workers, grocery store and warehouse workers — had the least amount of power over their work, their jobs, their lives.
Who has the power to call or define someone as essential?
And if someone is essential, especially during a time such as a pandemic, shouldn’t they be treated with better pay, insurance and working conditions?
What kind of society is it, after all, that someone would feel compelled to work against their will, facing a life-threatening disease just to be able to afford and provide shelter for themselves and their families?
And how powerless must that person feel? What level of control would that person say they have over their lives?
Insecurity Over a Lack of Power Never Disappears
A few weeks ago, the agency that manages the Texas power grid encouraged Texans to cut back on energy use. The power grid was at capacity not because of demand, but because so many power plants were offline due to an unfortunate mix of planned and unexpected maintenance.
It wasn’t even that hot, not for Texas. It stayed in the low 90s most of the week. But the ask of Texas energy consumers was similar to what occurred during the Texas freeze. Unplug unused devices and appliances. Keep your thermostat a few degrees higher (in this case) than normal. Try not to open the refrigerator.
What I realized that week was just how much psychological strain (dare I call it trauma?) I had within me from the Freeze. And remember, I had it pretty good that week.
But the threat of losing power triggered me. It kept me on edge. I slept poorly that week and I struggled to focus at work.
It’s out of my control, I reminded myself. I don’t have the power to impact this, in any way.
In whether or not I would have power in my apartment, I realized how little power I have, broadly.
Somewhere in Texas, in some room, a person was sitting behind a desk, or a console, or a computer…and that person had the power. The power to turn off or keep on my electricity.
And I would imagine even that person is just a cog, without decision-making authority.
Who does have that power, veiled as corporate, governmental or political authority? Where does that power come from and how do they keep it? How did we decide that person, that group, that entity, should have that power? Are they using that control and influence in the public interest?
I just want my air conditioner to work and to charge my phone and to be able to open and close my refrigerator at will.
Is that too much power for one individual to ask for?
A Greater Ability To Distinguish What I Can and Cannot Control
Isn’t that what much of the pandemic experience was/is about, in a super-charged way? Coming to terms with how little power we have?
We lost control of our lives. Many pushed back against that loss…continuing to gather, to not wear masks, to not get vaccinated, to retain and cling to normality, refusing to grant or to cede power over individual decision-making despite the risks to themselves and others.
Isn’t that also what so much of the election was about? Isn’t that so much of our what our political debates are about?
Sure, there are significant policy differences. We will provide for families or give tax cuts to the rich? We will approve every drilling and pipeline project, or try to combat climate change?
But on a deeper level, it’s about power.
Who do we want in power — and how do we want those in power to wield it? Do we want someone like the former president, who said he alone can fix things, or someone like the current president, who wants to staff his administration with a diverse group of experienced government officials and policy makers?
What vision of power do Americans want?
This is why the Texas Freeze is so symbolic.
Former Texas Gov. Rick Perry said, while millions were without electricity, that Texans were willing to go a few days without power in exchange for not having our electricity tethered to the national power grid.
I wonder if the 151 people who died during the Texas Freeze agree with that. I know I don’t. I was lucky I didn’t have to burn my furniture or tear down my backyard fence for wood to keep myself warm. I was lucky I didn’t have to gather snow in order to flush a toilet.
In its latest session, the Texas legislature made some minor fixes to the way power is managed and operated in the state.
But they refused — or rather they chose — not to take the bold steps to overhaul the grid and to impose regulations and rules that would prevent a future mass outage like the one from last February.
They used their power and authority to sustain the status quo. Many Texans are fine with that. They will continue to vote for people who accept the power going out. Who restrict women’s power over their own bodies. For a governor who ties the hands of local jurisdictions in setting their own polices to help prevent the spread of a fatal disease. And fine with the legislature making it harder to vote, which only cements their own power.
Where does that leave me? Questioning how much power I have to make a difference.
I can make the calls and send the emails to my elected officials. I can donate to non-profits and advocacy organizations, and attend their events. I can show up in front of yet another rally in front of the state capitol.
To what end? Where does power really lie? Even I, someone financially stable with an incredibly comfortable life, feel powerless so much of the time.
From the pandemic that won’t go away through the Texas freeze, it’s as if my entire existence is about embodying the Lord’s prayer.
I am starting to see more clearly the difference, the chasm, between what I have the power to control and what I don’t.
It’s far bigger, wider, heavier and more substantial than I realized.
For when I cannot even turn the lights on in my home, how can I control when the power that generates the electricity that does so is sent through the grid into my home, much less control where the energy that powers the grid is generated?
When I cannot control the air that I breathe, how can I control how much warmer the planet will get?
When I cannot influence those around me to get vaccinated from a fatal disease, so that I and others I want to spend time with are safe, how much power do I have over the spaces I want to go and inhabit?
When I woke up Monday morning after the storm, the wind had died down, though bits of now still floated in the air. The windows had stopped rattling.
I took stock of what I had: electricity, heat, even a wireless connection. The water pipes were frozen, though my hosts were able to resolve that later in the day. I had food in the refrigerator to last for days. I had even brought an extra bottle of wine.
I was OK. But I knew so many were not.
And I felt powerless to help them, because I was. Elie Wiesel is quoted as saying, “Ultimately, the only power to which man should aspire is that which he exercises over himself.”
For someone who witnessed the worst that collective power can do, that philosophy makes sense.
But as millions throughout Texas faced survival mode due to lack of power, I find Wiesel’s thought too far removed from the plight of those who endure the consequences of decisions made by those in power.
While I don’t personally aspire to be a governor or senator, I am not willing to be quiet and cede power to those I think abuse theirs at the expense of others.
Any society needs leaders. What is supposed to be the strength of American democracy, both at the federal and state level, is that a group of people, rather than one monarch or dictator, holds the seat of authority in what is supposed to be a representative form of government. That, of course, becomes distorted when one group re-writes voting districts unfairly, tilting the vote in their favor.
In Texas, power is not shared equally or consistently, either in the political sense, or the electrical one. We are left to fend for ourselves, as Wiesel said, the only thing we truly we can control.
The joke is on us. We are told to take responsibility over our lives, when in reality we have so little power to do so on so many things that matter.
So I stock my pantry and store up water and buy batteries and back-up chargers. I’ll be OK, I hope, the next time the power goes out.
Because it will. For when and how long it’s impossible to say. That is beyond my control.
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Previously Published on Medium
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