As a person who spends most of their time on the computer writing, it’s been difficult to find a spare moment to write on the computer. I’ve meant to follow up on my post from last week with more fun things I did in Spain on my two-week vacation with Kurtis.

Instead, I’ve been trying to finish all of my work before this weekend preemptively. No, I’m not heading out for a crazy night, and I don’t have fun plans that will take up all of my time. I’m in Florida. South Florida to be exact, which is where the potentially catastrophic Hurricane Irma could be heading.

My flight to New York is booked for next Thursday, so there’s no escape in a plane, and almost my whole family is down here. I’m hoping that the empty shelves in the grocery stores and warnings to stay away from large cranes will all be for nothing. I’m hoping that we will be safe.

The last time I was in a hurricane was during Katrina back in 2005. Fortunately, us Floridians didn’t get hit nearly as hard as Louisiana. I’m praying that is the case too.

As humans, and especially those of us still early on in life, it’s easy to get this sense of invincibility. Children and teens have it, which is why when they combine it with a lack of good judgment it can be deadly. I certainly don’t feel invincible, but it’s difficult to comprehend death. One minute you’re there, the next you’re gone. The world moves on without you. You have no control.

These thoughts and feelings first sparked up a few weeks back when a terrorist attack hit Barcelona. Two days before the white van crashing into hundreds of innocent tourists, I was walking up and down La Rambla with Kurtis, complaining because I wanted new shoes. I made him walk all throughout the alleys, into different stores, and then back along the main street. (For those of you not familiar with Barcelona or the specifics of the attack, the assaults happened on La Rambla. It’s a famous street for tourists to enjoy the shopping, food, and even some of the architecture in Barcelona.)

On the morning of that devastating Thursday, I decided I had enough of trekking around Barcelona. I’d found my shoes, enjoyed the city and walked miles upon miles in the process. I wanted to go to the beach. Initially, we were going to stay another day/night, but instead, we hopped on the train back to Mataró around 1 o’clock–only hours before the massacre that occurred.

It was surreal visiting the area only two days later and seeing the temporary barriers, the extra police guarding with guns, and the memorials. There were hundreds of candles, teddy bears, cards, and notes paying tribute to the individuals who were taken from the Earth too soon by hate. Crowds gathered to mourn the losses and unite against terrorism.

I couldn’t help it. I stood there and cried. I cried for the people who were murdered that I didn’t even know. I cried because I was shaken to my core of the cruelness and evil that had taken their lives. I cried because I was scared. I cried because I was selfish for being grateful that it wasn’t me.

I’m not telling this story as a way to say, “Hey! I was just there!!!”  or to get a reaction. I wasn’t harmed, and I didn’t face a near death experience. I was lucky. I was lucky that I was bratty enough to demand to go back to the beach, which happened to be away from Barcelona and safe. I’m telling this story, so whoever is reading this might understand why this hurricane is bringing up the feelings and questions I have about life and death.

After nine months of being away from home, I decided to visit my family–first in Florida, then in New York. Of course, my friends and friends were relieved to see that I wasn’t near the attack in Barcelona and happy that I would be returning. I’ve been so excited to be around family that I had forgotten about the feelings I tried to process while staring at the pictures of the victims and surrounding candles on La Ramblas. That sinking “what if” feeling in my stomach. The thoughts of death at a young age from unpredictable situations. The cloak of invincibility we believe we wear from being close, but not close enough for harm.

These two events may seem disconnected–one is an act of terror and hate, the other is a naturally occurring catastrophe. There are terrorists all over the world causing hurricane-sized damage, but no hurricanes killing innocent people for an unjust cause. In my mind, both events cause damage, loss and plant a seed of despair, while also causing love and unity to bloom from the darkness. We find the strength we never even knew we had. We also reflect on weaknesses and fears we never knew existed until we were forced to face them.

Both situations represent a loss of control.

With all of these latest attacks, especially in popular tourist destinations, many people can’t help but ask: why travel? Why not stay home? Why risk it? But what else can you do? You can stay in your house, and not live your life just to survive a potential danger that you have no control over.

Now with the warnings of this upcoming hurricane, the questions become: why stay? Why not leave your home? Those who remind behind in their homes–the supposed safe-havens–stay because they’re not going to let something that they can’t control, send them hiding.

So what’s to be said for these unpredictable horrors? Do we hide? Or can we use the anxieties of something beyond our control to come together and live fearless lives?