The Storm Wasn’t the Problem

I recently came across a piece of art created by an Arctic artist — a fabric printed with long, spare power lines. At first glance, it looked plain. But the longer I stood there, the more it said.

It reminded me:

Some structures shape your entire world long before you ever notice them.
Some lines hum beneath everything — carrying power, carrying consequence — whether you recognize them or not.

That’s exactly how the last few years have felt.

There are power lines running through this country — through institutions, policies, communities — that many people can’t or won’t see. Lines that carry more than just electricity. Lines that shape who gets protected, who gets believed, who gets left behind.

I felt those lines most clearly at PMH.
When everything cracked, I didn’t imagine it. I wasn’t overreacting. I was finally seeing.
And when I tried to name it, most people disappeared.

But I stayed.
I stayed because I couldn’t look away.
I stayed because pretending not to see would’ve been worse than standing alone.

And here’s the part I’ve never said publicly:

The only thing I kept in my divorce was my business.

Not furniture. Not savings. Not even shared understanding.
Just this work — the work that, in many ways, saved me.

It gave me somewhere to pour the clarity.
It became a form of redemption — something I could still trust when people turned away.
Something I could build even while everything else was falling apart.

So if you’ve ever been the one who saw the cracks — and stayed anyway —
If you’ve ever kept showing up, even when no one else wanted to understand...

You’re not alone.

You may just be the one who hears the hum before the rest of the world notices it’s there.