My Personal Disaster Movie
Red Rocks of Sedona Arizona with dark sky and rainbow.
A couple of years ago, if someone had told me that in a single week I would experience a family emergency, blow out a tire, drive through a desert monsoon, and be evacuated because of a wildfire, I would have assumed they were pitching a screenplay for a low-budget disaster movie.
And yet... here we are.
This past week was one of the strangest I've had in a long time. It was a week of mishaps, literal disasters, near disasters, and more than one moment of asking, "What just happened?" It was also a week that reminded me of something important: no matter what happens, I'm going to be OK.
Let me start at the beginning.
A week ago Monday, I received a call from my sister telling me that my nephew had been involved in a boating accident and was on his way to the hospital. Thankfully, he's OK, but it could have been much more serious.
If you've ever gotten one of those phone calls, you know how quickly everything else fades into the background. The emotional toll of seeing someone you love hurt is real. In moments like that, you put aside your own fears and worries and simply show up with love, support, and whatever steadiness you can offer.
Then Tuesday arrived.
I was excited to see a movie I'd been looking forward to for weeks. The universe apparently had other plans.
As I’m driving down the road, I almost missed the entrance to the theater, and in a last-ditch effort, I turned too quickly, hit a curb at exactly the wrong angle, and instantly blew out a tire.
Movie: canceled.
Tire: destroyed.
Pride: slightly wounded.
In fairness, a flat tire is hardly a disaster. But judging by the way I beat myself up afterward, you'd think I had taken out a city block.
Wednesday brought a new adventure.
I drove a friend to the airport in Phoenix, about two hours south of Sedona, where I've been living these past couple of months. On the drive back, I noticed dark clouds gathering in the distance.
Now, if you're from the East Coast like I am, storms are familiar. But Arizona storms are a different creature entirely.
Picture endless desert views and, in the distance, giant black clouds, lightning bolts stabbing straight into the earth, and thunder booming.
I spent a good 10 minutes convincing myself I might somehow avoid driving through it.
I did not.
The rain became so heavy I could barely see the road and eventually pulled over to wait it out. Across the highway, traffic was stopped because of an accident, and I found myself feeling grateful to be on my side of the road while also hoping everyone involved was safe.
Apparently, Arizona has a monsoon season. This was news to me.
One minute it's sunny and beautiful. The next minute, you're wondering if you're going to be featured in a documentary on the weather channel.
As much as I love Sedona, I'm definitely getting a taste of what it feels like to live somewhere completely unfamiliar. Let's just say this East Coast girl is stretching her comfort zone.
Then Friday happened.
At about 5 p.m., I received an emergency alert on my phone advising residents to prepare to evacuate due to a wildfire.
Excuse me... what?
I'm staying in a beautiful canyon area just north of Sedona. It's peaceful, quiet, and surrounded by breathtaking scenery. It’s the kind of place where you imagine meditating under the stars.
Not exactly the place where you expect to receive wildfire evacuation notices.
The fire was several miles north, but there was one significant detail: there is only one road in or out of the canyon.
The property owner, who has lived through previous fires, planned to stay. She encouraged me to do whatever felt right for me.
So I stayed.
Around midnight, I was awakened by pounding on the door.
"Sheriff's Department!"
They informed me there was now a mandatory evacuation order and asked if I intended to leave.
After another conversation with the owner, who still felt comfortable staying, I decided to stay as well.
Sleep did not come easily after that.
Around 4 a.m., I woke up coughing. The air quality had deteriorated, and there was a strong chemical smell inside the house. At that point, I decided that waiting it out was no longer the best plan.
As soon as daylight arrived, I packed up and drove to my brother's home in Phoenix. I'm deeply grateful for my brother and sister-in-law, who welcomed me in without hesitation.
So yes, it was quite a week.
Depending on your perspective, it's either a long story or the rough draft of a disaster movie.
Maybe both.
But here are the lessons I'm taking away from it all.
The first is this: no matter what happens, I will be OK.
That doesn't mean I enjoy difficult situations. It doesn't mean I don't get scared, stressed, overwhelmed, or emotional.
It means I've learned that I can handle hard things.
I can assess what's happening in the moment. I can make the best decision available to me. And if it turns out I need to make a different decision later, I can pivot.
Life asks that of all of us.
Many of us are already carrying stress, uncertainty, grief, or anxiety. Then life throws in a surprise flat tire, a family emergency, a wildfire, or some challenge we never saw coming.
Learning how to process what is happening instead of being consumed by it is a skill worth developing.
Another lesson?
Things don't happen to you. They simply happen.
When something difficult occurs, it's easy to make it personal.
Why does this always happen to me?
What did I do wrong?
Here we go again.
I've come to believe that life isn't punishing us. Often, it's simply inviting us to pay attention.
Every challenge reveals something.
A pattern.
A belief.
A fear.
A strength.
A habit.
Awareness is a gift if we're willing to sit with it.
And speaking of gifts, people are one of the greatest gifts of all.
This week reminded me how kind human beings can be.
Family members showed up with love and support. Friends checked in. Strangers offered help. The people who replaced my tire treated me with such genuine kindness that I left feeling better about humanity.
A couple I had met only days earlier reached out after hearing about the wildfire and offered me a place to stay if I needed one.
Those moments matter.
They remind us that we are never as alone as we think we are.
I've also been inspired by watching my nephew and my sister navigate a serious accident with courage, grace, and love. It has been humbling and beautiful to witness.
And finally...
Stop beating yourself up.
Trust me, I am speaking directly to myself here.
That tire incident was completely avoidable, yet it happened.
I felt foolish.
I replayed it in my head.
I criticized myself far more than anyone else did.
But eventually, sitting there waiting for a new tire, I realized something:
Making a mistake is just that, a mistake.
A flat tire is simply a flat tire.
Not evidence that I'm an idiot.
Not proof that I've failed.
Just a moment that happened.
So that's my disaster movie week.
Have I wondered whether the universe is trying to tell me something?
Of course.
Should I leave Sedona? Find another place to stay? Change my plans?
Maybe. Maybe not.
What I know for certain is this:
I'm going to be OK.
And perhaps that's the message.
One last thing.
As you can see, I made the leap to come to Arizona without having all the answers. I didn't do extensive research. I didn't have a detailed plan. I wasn't even sure how long I would stay.
From a practical standpoint, that may sound a little reckless.
From a life standpoint, it felt right.
Sometimes we wait until we have all the information before making a decision. We want guarantees. We want certainty. We want a clear roadmap showing exactly how things will unfold.
Unfortunately, life rarely works that way.
Sometimes the next step only becomes visible after you've taken the first one.
Coming to Arizona has stretched me in ways I never expected. I've experienced beauty, uncertainty, new friendships, unexpected challenges, a flat tire, a monsoon, and a wildfire evacuation—all in just a few months. If I had known all of that ahead of time, would I still have come?
Absolutely.
Because every experience has taught me something.
Sometimes you simply have to trust your gut, take the leap, and figure it out as you go. Not because you're fearless, but because you've learned to trust yourself enough to handle whatever comes next.
And if this past week has taught me anything, it's that even when things don't go according to plan, I can adapt, pivot, and find my way forward.
Whatever is happening in your own life right now, I hope you'll remember that you can do hard things too.
Take a breath.
Ask for help when you need it.
Trust yourself a little more.
Offer yourself a little more grace.
And remember—you are far more resilient than you think.