When Hurricanes and Cranes Collide
Last week, as Hurricane Milton approached Florida, my girlfriend and I decided to shelter in place with two of her adult children. We even celebrated her youngest son’s 21st birthday while we were all hunkered down together.
Neither of us was in an evacuation zone. We had thoughtfully considered our options, and having made our decision, we prepared carefully. Yet, as the storm neared, concerned friends began reaching out, urging us to leave. “Why aren’t you evacuating?” they asked, as if staying put hadn’t been a well-considered choice.
What they didn’t realize is that evacuating isn’t always simple — crowded roads, gas shortages, and a complete lack of available hotel rooms made leaving far more complicated than it seemed. We weren’t in immediate danger, and I trusted our preparations. Still, their questions planted seeds of doubt, making it harder to stay calm and confident.
Navigating the Complexities of Sheltering Together
Choosing to shelter with my girlfriend complicated the decision-making process; alone, I could have loaded up the campervan and headed out with Wolfie. But with four people and three dogs, my focus shifted to meeting everyone’s needs — both physical and emotional.
Normally, I recharge by spending time alone, but now I found myself balancing the need to support others while maintaining my own boundaries. It wasn’t just about practical decisions; it was about navigating the emotional dynamics of a group in a high-stress situation.
On the morning of the storm, I drove to pick up my girlfriend’s daughter, who decided to shelter with us after feeling pressure from friends and family. I slipped easily into ‘Dad’ mode, reassured that she wouldn’t have to worry about her vehicle being exposed during the storm. The day after, I became the hunter-gatherer, searching for provisions and a hot meal for everyone as we managed the power outage.
The Weight of Well-Meaning Friends
One of the most stressful parts of Hurricane Milton wasn’t the storm itself but the steady stream of concerned messages and pleas to evacuate. Well-intentioned though they were, the constant “Why haven’t you left?” made me question myself. I knew we were safe enough, but their anxiety became contagious, making it harder to stay confident.
In order to ease the pressure, I decided to post regular updates on social media — partly to inform and reassure others, and partly to keep myself occupied. I wanted to be a calming voice, but the weight of their concerns was hard to shake, adding stress to an already tense situation. While their concerns were valid, it was the unseen risks — those beyond anyone’s control — that truly tested our decision to stay.
A Close Call: The Crane Incident
Two days before the storm, I received a notice from the city warning that four construction cranes on nearby high-rises were at risk due to the expected high winds. Residents within a block of any of the buildings were advised to evacuate, and two of the cranes were attached to a 46-storey building currently being built directly across from my home. While it didn’t impact me directly, as I’d already made alternative plans, it did give me one more thing to worry about.
We prepared and stayed vigilant. While thankfully, we were spared the predicted 12–15 feet storm surge, the relentless 100+ MPH winds had other plans.
The next morning, I saw the news: one of the cranes opposite my building had collapsed. It had torn through five floors of an unoccupied office block across the street, leaving wreckage of overturned desks, scattered papers, and dangling wires. Thankfully, no one had been hurt, but the sight of the massive crane lodged like a spear in the building stopped me cold.
I didn’t fully comprehend the close call until I saw the wreckage in person two days later. The photos hadn’t prepared me for the reality: if the other crane had fallen, it could have destroyed my building entirely. In that moment I realized that no matter how well you prepare, some things are simply beyond control.
Standing by My Judgment
Despite the close call, I believe we made the right decision to shelter in place. Had I been alone, I might have evacuated earlier, but with my girlfriend’s son, his dogs, and later his sister joining us, the logistics became more complicated. Life rarely revolves around just your own needs — others’ needs shape your decisions, and this was no different.
Though we were spared the worst, the storm left its mark; it wasn’t just about physical damage — it tested my emotional resilience. I found myself questioning not only the decisions we made but also my approach to making them. The crane incident brought these doubts to the surface, reminding me that no matter how meticulously I plan, some things are beyond my control.
I’ve reflected on the “what ifs,” but I still stand by our judgment. The decisions we made were thoughtful, guided by local advice and careful preparation. Yet even the best decisions can’t guarantee peace of mind when unpredictable forces are at play. The crane incident was a humbling reminder that some risks, no matter how well-managed, remain beyond control.
The Emotional Exhaustion of Recovery
Since returning home, I’ve felt the lingering emotional toll of the storm. As an empath, I’ve had to work harder to separate my own feelings from the pain and fear around me. It’s been a process of learning to step back, recognize when I’m overwhelmed, and to focus on my well-being.
Seeing friends who’ve lost their homes or incomes is hard, but I’ve realized I need to balance helping others with taking care of myself. After the storm, I stayed with my girlfriend for a few days, but eventually, I needed solitude to recharge.
Being alone helps me tune out the emotional “noise” and process my feelings at my own pace. My self-care includes eating well, napping when needed, and reflecting. Writing this essay is part of that recovery — it’s helping me make sense of the experience.
Finding Balance Between Family and Community
During this storm, my focus was on those closest to me — my girlfriend, her children, and their immediate needs. But I know that in other circumstances, my attention may shift. Since my girlfriend and I started dating, I’ve been working to find a balance between the responsibilities of our relationship and my role in the community. It’s about supporting the people I love while still honoring the obligations that come with being part of a larger community.
In times of crisis, I’m always humbled when people turn to me for guidance. It’s not a role I take lightly, feeling a responsibility to help whenever and wherever I can. I’ve learned that it’s not about solving every problem but offering support and encouraging others to pay it forward.
When future storms come, my focus will depend on the situation — sometimes my loved ones will come first, other times the broader community. It’s a constant balancing act, deciding where I’m needed most and how I can have the greatest impact.
Lessons from the Storm: Moving Forward
While the challenges of evacuating with three dogs were temporary, this storm heightened my awareness of disaster’s unpredictability. It’s not just about being prepared physically — it’s about accepting that things will go wrong and staying flexible.
My girlfriend and I also learned how differently we process stress. She prefers to stay busy, while I need quiet reflection. The morning after the storm, she wanted to walk around and assess the damage, stopping to talk with everyone we met.
Normally, I’d enjoy that, but this time I hesitated. I wasn’t ready to confront damaged homes or distressed people, though I couldn’t fully explain why.
I went with her, and while it was good to get out, I found myself longing to retreat into my protective bubble, where I could monitor the news from a distance — my passive way of staying busy.
Gaining a Deeper Understanding
Later, we acknowledged the disconnect between how we were presenting ourselves and what we truly felt, sparking one of those honest conversations that have always been a cornerstone of our relationship. I’m incredibly grateful for these moments, as they always bring us closer and offer valuable insights.
The storm reshaped my approach to decision-making — shifting my focus from self-preservation to safeguarding those I love, while recognizing the wider impact of each choice. Every decision carried more weight because it was about ensuring the safety and well-being of the people I care about. The experience forced me to confront the balance between personal boundaries and collective responsibility.
I’ve always taken pride in being a good communicator, but communication, like decision-making, is a two-way street. If one person isn’t willing to dance, communication falters. I count myself fortunate to have found my Ginger Rogers (for those unfamiliar with the reference, Google “backwards and in high heels”), and together, we’ve learned the steps. We feel safe enough to explore our vulnerabilities, recognize our differences, and support each other in ways that reflect our needs.
Now, I’m more conscious of the factors I weigh when making decisions. It’s not just about protecting myself; it’s about balancing my needs with the well-being of those closest to me.
The Quiet After the Storm: A Conclusion
Hurricane Milton wasn’t just a test of physical preparedness — it tested my emotional resilience and forced me to confront the complexities of relationships and personal growth. The decisions we made during the storm, and the lessons learned afterward, have reshaped how I view the world around me. It wasn’t just about surviving the storm, but navigating the balance between personal boundaries and collective responsibility.
The crane incident was a stark reminder of how quickly things can go wrong, even when you do everything right. It reinforced a hard truth: no matter how much you plan, some things are beyond your control. But surviving a storm is about more than following a plan — it’s about trusting your decisions, even when others question them, and finding the strength to recover, no matter how long it takes.
As I move forward, I’m more aware of the importance of not only preparing for the unpredictable but also trusting the strength I’ve developed — both in myself and in those I love. The storm may have passed, but the experience continues to shape me, reminding me that true resilience isn’t just about physical preparedness but about adapting, growing, and trusting the connections we build with others.
Friends and family have already begun asking if I plan to stay in Florida long-term. When I first decided to move here, it was meant to be a two-year commitment to avoid a large tax bill on the condo, which had previously been rented out. I quickly fell in love with both the city and the community that welcomed me so warmly, but the option has always been there to rethink things in the future.
I haven’t made any long-term decisions about staying in St. Petersburg, and I don’t plan to any time soon. Any decision won’t be made in isolation — it will involve thoughtful conversations with those I care about, those who I consider to be family. For now, I’m focused on my own recovery and supporting the people I love.