Some Thoughts on Hurricane Milton

Thinking of everyone on the Gulf Coast

From a physical distance, I am fortunate to write this post, but emotionally, my mind and heart are on the Gulf Coast. While I have thoughts and feelings, none of this compares to what the people on the Gulf Coast are facing—their safety, homes, jobs, and entire livelihoods are now up in the air. I am thinking of all my family, friends, friends that are family, classmates, and the hundreds of people I am not in touch with but know will be impacted. I am especially thinking of my hero Mom, who despite my constant wishes to not be a hero, will be staying overnight during the storm and doing her job and taking care of the hundreds of residents where she works.

At this point, we still do not know where the hurricane will make landfall. There is plenty of time for the forecast to change around, but it seems within 20 miles of wherever the eye makes landfall will suffer the most destruction. The wind and rain will be worse to the north of the eye and the storm surge will be worse to the south of the eye. Basically, it is going to be awful everywhere under the hurricane, but the closer to the center the more severe it will be. Before we know where it lands and before the day after begins, I have had some thoughts going through my head. I don’t know if these are the right words and honestly it feels like there are no good words nor enough words right now, but it only seems appropriate to share now.

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When the NHC puts out their first forecast and as it begins to narrow, something you hear often from people in the “Cone of Uncertainty” is that they hope it turns away from where they live. Everyone can name a storm that their city was under the track line but then days or hours before landfall the hurricane moved south/north and they weren’t directly hit. Gulf Coast residents especially know about the wobbles that happen right before landfall.

Just since I have been in college there have been several major hurricanes where Sarasota was near the center of the track and in the final days or hours it avoided the worst. I was thankful when this happened and then once the anxiety subsided and I knew everyone I love was safe, I felt awful. It is an awful, yet understandable feeling, that once you know this is going to hit somewhere, you hope it hits “somewhere else”.

I continue to hope Milton “hits somewhere else,” yet as I look at that forecast map there is nowhere that is “else”. At this point, I know people everywhere in the cone. From St.Pete/Tampa to Brandon to Bradenton to Sarasota to Venice to North Port to Naples, there are people I love and their families. There are paths possible that would be the least bad of horrible options, but they are all bad.

I am coming to realize, there has never really been a true “else”. For some storms, there are places with fewer people where it can make landfall, but given the rapid growth of housing and population in Florida there are few places left where the damage can be minimal. For many of the recent storms that have made landfall I knew fewer people who lived there, but that does not make them an “else”. Destruction is destruction.

It is a beautiful thing, that we are all so connected today. I am thankful to have cellphones, FaceTime, 24/7 (increasingly sophisticated) weather reporting, and the National Weather Service to stay up to the minute on what is happening or forecast to happen. Yet, once this storm makes landfall Wednesday Night/Thursday morning and for many the power goes out (and maybe cell towers as well), the loss of connection will hurt even more, especially for those there but also for the family trying to connect from the outside.

In today’s world where every natural and unnatural disaster in the world can be viewed instantaneously and live in your pocket it is easy (if not normal) to become numb to the devastation. Part of this is the sheer quantity of disaster now shown in HD and part of this is the helplessness as an individual from a distance. It is a very recent phenomenon that we are so privy to devastation not in our home community. In our extremely connected world, when disaster strikes far from home there is only so much an individual can do. When something like what happened (and is happening) in Western NC occurs, it has the national attention for a day or two, but the rebuilding will take months if not years. Some areas will never be rebuilt. Recovery requires large government and NGO response and lots of time.

For Milton, I don’t know what is going to happen. My first hope is that with the time we have had to prepare everyone along the Gulf Coast will be somewhere safe. For those in evacuation zones (including my parents), it is so hard to leave your home without knowing what you return to, but we must all put life before property. My second hope is that the wind shear continues to slow down this hurricane as much as possible. My third hope is that those that are fortunate to not go through the worst, help those who face it. This will be widespread and it will take time to recover, but everyone can help, one way or another.

There is no “ somewhere else” anymore for me. I don’t know what will happen. I hope I return this Thanksgiving to a Sarasota as beautiful as before with everyone safe and thankful. It hurts to hope for this at the cost of knowing it means others will not. As I hope and fear for the next 48 hours, I am making a promise to myself to not move on from this one no matter where it hits. This recovery will take time, and I’m not sure what we can do right away, but it’s going to take all of us—as one large Gulf Coast community—to recover.

Thinking of everyone back home. I love you all. Be safe and we will get through this together.