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We had our first big lightning storm of the summer last night.

I've always both loved and feared the night storm. One of the things I said moved me to this transition was a sense that I wanted to be held at night when it stormed, and years had gone by when that had not been possible. I counted the number of years I could have left and the number of storms per year, and the number of times that I could have that experience was too low to let more time go by and not have it be an option.

Last night the first storm I weathered as a single person in almost two decades, and as the lightning hit the tree outside with a massive crack, and the power went out, and my heart pounded, I thought: I'm still alone. 

The thought arose that I wanted to be held, to reach out to someone, anyone, but I had to learn to comfort myself.

I pulled the blanket tight around my body and listened through the rain for the windchimes on my porch. 

I was OK. It was the first storm I've weathered as a single person, this time around. It surely won't be the last. But I learned listening for the windchimes and pulling the blanket tight is just enough to make it to morning, which is just all I need.