“Frankly, your lack of paranoia is insane to me.” – Silicon Valley
In our library, I asked The Mrs. where our books on paranoia were, she said, “They’re right behind you.”
The biggest natural disaster The Wilder Family ever rode out was Hurricane Ike – it passed right over our house when we lived in Houston. And it was going pretty strong when it hit our place. We lost power, a tree, siding, and a whole lot of roof. Thankfully, Led Zeppelin was there to sing that one . . . Whole Lot of Roof . . . .
In review, the hurricane wasn’t so bad. At one point, I had to do my Captain Dan impression, walking outside in the middle of the hurricane at the strongest winds and yelling into the wind after the power went out and the laptop battery died so we couldn’t watch the John Adams miniseries we were watching on DVD:
“Is that all that you’ve got?”
Since I’ll probably never be able to walk away from an exploding helicopter without looking back as the flames shot up into the sky, it was just something I thought I had to do: yelling into a hurricane wearing a bathrobe and athletic shorts.
I’ve done a lot of cool things in my life, but I really enjoyed that one. I’d recommend it, but my lawyer, Lazlo, advises me against advising you to try it. Maybe you could talk pleasantly into a warm spring breeze?
The reason I did it? We had hit the toughest part of the storm. We had ridden it out. We were prepared.
Never smoke weed during a hurricane – lightning always strikes the highest object.
In truth, the preparation had started before we ever bought our house. We picked a house that was so far outside the flood zone that Wyoming would be underwater before we were.
Yeah, I checked that before we made an offer. I’m paranoid that way.
In my life, I’ve always tried to go to the idea of, “How bad can it get?” Then I thought, “Well, how could it get worse than that?”
In the middle of the night when I wake up with yet another scenario, the answer always comes back the same: “It really can get worse.”
Reality can get really, awfully bad. And it can do so more quickly than we imagine.
During the hurricane, there wasn’t a lot we could do. Stores were picked clean of essentials about 24 hours before the storm hit. Oh, sure, you could get things like diet cookies and soy milk, but the food actual humans wanted to eat was simply gone. And booze? Forget about it. All of that was sold out.
The first big lesson: Prepare Before Circumstances Force You To Prepare. If you’re moving out of a disaster zone (cough San Francisco cough) it’s better to be five years too early than one day too late. Especially if they’re out of beer.
Why did people hoard all the toilet paper? It’s just how they roll . . . .
But not having the store was okay for us. I went to visit one mainly to amuse myself and learn – what would be left? If more people prepared, then systems wouldn’t be overwhelmed when a crisis strikes.
Thankfully, at that point in our life, our pantry had enough food in it to keep us fully fed for weeks or longer. Water? We had a swimming pool (they come with every house in Houston, like mailboxes or manservants) so we had thousands of gallons of water.
Don’t want to drink swimming pool water? Well, if you had the water filter system I had, you could. But we also had drinking water stored in plastic jugs for weeks of use. We ended up using the swimming pool water for bathing and toilet flushing and never missed a beat.
The food was good. Even though power was out, cold cooked corn and cold Hormel Chili™ tasted okay. It was “camping” bad, but not “a normal Tuesday in Somalia” bad. The worst part was the second day after the hurricane – temperatures and humidity skyrocketed, so it was uncomfortable to do anything other than sit around and sweat. Even sleeping was uncomfortable since the still, hot, humid air was like living inside a whale that’s spending spring break in a crockpot.
Don’t sweat the petty things. And don’t pet the sweaty things.
The hand-crank radio was our link to the outside world. Cell service was wiped out. And then, FEMA helpfully came on the radio and told us to go to their website for emergency locations.
Huh? Website? We had a hand-crank radio.
But, outside of minor discomfort, we were fine. I even had beer, though it was warm.
The one (and only one) hole in my preparations at that point was I was out of propane for my grill. I had to borrow from a neighbor to cook the steaks that were rapidly thawing out. That was okay, I lent him 20 gallons of gasoline for his generator, so we were very quickly even-stevens.
Yet another lesson: Every Detail, No Matter How Small, Matters.
I was planning for a much, much bigger catastrophe. The hurricane that hit us was, due to the preparations The Mrs. and I made, an uncomfortable inconvenience. It was in this case that my paranoia made our lives (relatively) easy.
The biggest lesson I learned is one that we speak of commonly now: No One Is Coming To Save You.
If we had any issues that would have resulted in needing help? We weren’t going to get it. The “First Responders” had gotten themselves into an emergency operations building and had no food or water. The radio broadcast a hilarious plea for people to come save the “First” Responders by bringing them food and water.
When seconds count, First Responders will be there in minutes.
The First Responders are almost always Second Responders – you and I, when we have a crisis, are the real First Responders.
No One Is Coming To Save You. Get that very simple fact through your mind. It was one we lived with each day of my childhood up on Wilder Mountain. If you couldn’t save yourself – you were going to die. If Pa Wilder cut off his left foot with the chainsaw while we were gathering firewood and my brother John (yes, my brother’s name is really John as well) couldn’t save him, he was going to die.
That never happened. But we were prepared for it.
Sometimes events I write about go beyond what will happen. I assure you, not one of the events that I write about goes beyond what could happen. The descent of a society into madness and chaos has happened again and again throughout history. Sure, that descent into madness generally doesn’t happen overnight.
Generally. But sometimes? It does.
So, when I look at the world around me, I let my paranoia run. I encourage it. “How bad could it get?”
That’s a starting point. What are the additional things current me can do now to help future me? How many human needs can I solve? For how long?
Where I live, there are several amazing advantages. Great water. Good soil. Low-ish population density. Grain elevators filled to bursting with food that the population could eat in an emergency. Good neighbors that I’ve known for years who think as I do, mostly.
We didn’t move to a rural area by accident. From every story that was told to me about the Great Depression – people in the country, surrounded by their neighbors, had a much better time than people in the cities.
Think about preparing not as being about stuff, but as a way to buy time. Saving money buys time. Stockpiling food buys time. Living in a low-pressure area buys time. Living in a high resource area buys time.
Most preppers suffer from Stock Home syndrome.
If you prepare for something big, and nothing big happens? Not generally a loss. I can eat the food in my pantry anytime. If I prepare by building a pantry when times are good? I often end up saving money because food prices keep going up.
If you prepare for something big, and something small happens, like (for us) Hurricane Ike?
You can ride it out. You get a few days off of work. You might gain weight, having to eat all of that food that is thawing.
And you would definitely get the chance to go out and yell into the winds:
“Is that all you’ve got?”
See? Paranoia has its advantages. I’ll simply say this: paranoia is the only way that our ancestors survived.
Don’t sell it short. Preparation after paranoia brings peace of mind. Heck, I nearly have a Ph.D. in that – just call me Dr. Prepper.
I guess anyone can be called Dr. nowadays.
