What Hurricanes Teach Me
Reflections from the heart of the ceremony of the storm
I am a child of the most biodiverse estuary in North America. Named for the Ais people, who lived interdependently with this river and lagoon ecosystem, Indian River County is nested within a bioregion for which hurricanes are a part of the pattern of life. The Ais people lived with these storms, and there is so much we don’t know about how they anticipated, adapted to, and moved through these powerful storms that mark the end of the season of heat.
Indian River County is the heart of the Treasure Coast, named for the gold and jewels that the Spanish Crown stole from the indigenous peoples of South America. It was all reclaimed by the sea in 1622 when a hurricane sunk a fleet of ships holding what would have been in today’s accounting hundreds of millions of dollars worth of stolen treasure. Even now, after big storms, beachcombers can find galleons and jewels in the sand. Hurricanes are, in every sense, a force of redistribution. They redistribute heat, water, attention, gold, nutrients, awareness, gratitude.
Growing up in this place, I’ve learned that hurricanes are more than just destructive forces; they are teachers, ceremonies that demand our attention, our presence, and our humility. They teach us about the delicate equilibrium the Earth seeks, and they remind us of the vital importance of community and interdependence. Hurricanes have shaped my understanding of the land and my place within it. Over time, these storms have come to symbolize much more: the necessity of bioregional resilience, the power of communal care, and the opportunity for regeneration after destruction.
One of the most profound lessons hurricanes have taught me is how easily we are geared to fixate on entropy—what is broken, what is threatening, what feels unstable. But when faced with a hurricane, I become so aware of what is whole, what is still standing strong. I become keenly attuned to syntropy, the counterforce to entropy, which brings things together, which enables life, which makes our wholeness possible. In the anticipation of destruction, there is an opportunity to pay attention to what is still intact: solid land, the standing trees, the unbroken homes, the blessings of community, and the forces that are still alive, holding us together.
The Land as Teacher
The wisdom of this land teaches me every day. It has shaped my entire life, both personally and professionally in my work of shaping regenerative futures alongside brilliant people and remarkable organizations creating positive, life affirming change every day. When I teach about Buckminster Fuller’s concept of trim tabs—the idea that one small, well-placed action or agent can create immense change—I can’t help but mention the gopher tortoise every time. This small creature, native to our area, plays a crucial role in the ecosystem, digging burrows that offer shelter to hundreds of other species. When I speak about the resilience and growth patterns and power of trees, it’s not an abstraction; I’m speaking of the oak trees around my home, those strong, flexible protectors that buffer us from the wind. They are some the greatest teachers of the living systems dynamics I’ve been studying and teaching for nearly a decade.
This land, this incredibly diverse bioregion, constantly teaches me about dynamic equilibrium. Hurricanes, though often seen as destructive forces, actually play a key role in maintaining the regenerative flow of life. They redistribute heat, moving it from the equator toward the poles, helping to regulate the planet’s temperature. This Earth, in its wisdom, is always dynamically changing, seeking equilibrium. Hurricanes are part of that living process. Humanity must be too.
And while it’s easy to see the devastation hurricanes bring, they also redistribute nutrients, clear space for new growth, and remind us to pay attention to the ever present forces of life that are so much bigger than us. Amid the fallen branches and floodwaters, there are always trees still standing, land that remains whole, and the strong roots that hold steady. In these moments, I am reminded that life is not only about what has fallen apart but what remains and grows stronger.
Hurricanes as Ceremony
Every time a hurricane approaches, it brings with it a ceremony.
Like all ceremonies, hurricanes transform us. They require preparation, surrender, and radical presence.
I learned about ceremony from my parents, who were the head ceremonialists at the Ashram I was raised on. They led rituals throughout the year, including Durga Puja / Navaratri, which is a powerful 9 nights of honoring the Goddess in many forms, a ceremonial time that always overlaps with the heat of hurricane season. They taught me that ceremonies require deep preparation and our full presence. During the storm, we must show up for every moment: sometimes in action, sometimes in stillness, sometimes in connection, and sometimes in solitude. The lessons we learn during these times are ones that we carry forward, long after the storm has passed.
Hurricane Milton has taught me lessons of responsibility, leaning into the new experience of navigating the choices that a hurricane presents us with, now as parents of a toddler. The physical preparations are straightforward: we move potential projectiles, put up shutters, ensure we have enough water, prepare food, and charge our devices. We check on neighbors and prepare for the potential loss of power—sometimes for weeks.
But the mental and emotional preparations are just as important. I often remove social media from my phone to stay focused and grounded. It’s a time for discernment—being incredibly careful about the information we take in, tuning out the fear-mongering, and attuning to what is real. I pay attention to the data from NHC NOAA, and I also attune to the signs in nature, the wildlife, and my own instincts. I listen to the wisdom of my body, the signals of my nervous system, and the voices of those who are in it with me. There is a fine balance between understanding what we know intellectually and what we feel on a deeper, intuitive level.
And here, again, hurricanes remind me of the power of paying attention to what is intact: the strength of my home, the resilience of my family, the community that holds together in the face of uncertainty. It’s easy to fixate on what might go wrong, but hurricanes teach me to stay present to what is still holding, what is still working, what is syntropic.
And hurricanes, like any ceremony, are about not only the dissolution they bring but the potential they reveal. In the aftermath of a storm, when everything feels shaken, community comes together more than at any other time. It is truly a powerful, beautiful thing. I am reminded to look at what is still standing, what continues to support life, and what roots us in place. There is always something strong to anchor to if we pay attention.
Community and Interdependence
No one can survive or recover from a hurricane in isolation. Whether the storm leaves behind devastation or passes with little damage, it is always a reminder of our need for one another.
I remember the sense of togetherness that came after the hurricanes of 2004. In the wake of four major storms in rapid succession, our community came together in ways I had never experienced before. We shared meals, resources, and care. FEMA support was essential and as a middle schooler I ate MREs for weeks alongside friends and neighbors, and though the devastation was real, the bonds and strength of the community is what I remember most.
Years later, during Hurricane Matthew as a young adult I found myself throwing on galoshes the morning after and riding my bike around our community, checking on neighbors and friends, and serving as a messenger and a good neighbor. It was an honor to be part of that web of connection. Hurricanes demand that we put aside our differences—be they political, religious, or economic—and face the storm together. They remind us that we are all on this same ground, praying for safety, for rootedness, for the well-being of our homes and each other.
And again, while it’s easy to focus on the chaos, hurricanes remind us of the power of community—the people who remain, who show up for each other, who rebuild together. The integrity of community, much like the integrity of the land, is something to celebrate even amidst the storm.
Birth Story
Perhaps the most transformative hurricane I’ve experienced was Hurricane Ian, which arrived just days after we moved to my hometown, and two weeks before I was due to give birth. It became an undeniable part of my birth story.
At a time when most people expect mothers to rest and nest, I found myself out in the mounting winds, nine months pregnant, moving projectiles and putting up shutters. My family urged me to stop, but I stood firm, finding tremendous energy and repeating to myself and anyone who would listen, “I am strong. I have to be strong for what I’m about to go through.” The storm felt like an initiation into my strength as a mother. It was a powerful reminder that when life requires it, we often discover new reserves of power within ourselves.
And as Ian passed, I was again reminded that while some things break, other things hold. We lost electricity for 6 days, and on the 7th day, right in between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, during the Days of Awe, the power returned, and I gave birth the next day. This transformative, liminal time is one in which we can change our fates through prayer and generosity and atonement. This year, Hurricane Milton came through during this same window of transformative time, and now on the eve of Yom Kippur, I feel deeply how this storm has shifted my own life.
Regeneration & the Life-Death-Life Cycle
Hurricanes bring devastation, loss, and death. They remind us that life is fragile and impermanent. Yet in the aftermath of destruction, there is always the opportunity for regeneration. Just as hurricanes redistribute heat for the planet, they offer us the chance to shift stagnant energy, redistribute our own energy and resources, and to connect more deeply with the land and with each other.
In the face of devastation, we can choose to become jaded and shut down, or we can open our hearts. We can offer support, receive it in turn, and commit to living in a way that supports life, equilibrium, and the well-being of our communities. Hurricanes invite us into a consciousness shift—a chance to realign with the Earth and each other.
They teach us to focus not on what has been lost, but on what is still here, still holding, still offering life.
Hurricanes remind us of our radical interdependence. They teach us that we are all in this together, interdependent within our bioregions, and responsible for the common ground which gives us life. Whether or not you have experienced a hurricane, the lessons they offer are universal: stay connected, stay present, and work toward a world that supports life in all its forms. It’s an invitation to live with greater consciousness, to recognize our role in supporting the equilibrium of the planet, and to move toward a regenerative culture in every aspect of our lives.