Galveston: Down Goes the Pier

I was amazed to witness it.  And by witness it, I mean watch for nearly two hours on YouTube the slow crumbling and breaking away of a pier at 61^st street in Galveston.  Tropical Storm Beta (for only the second time in history we have reached the Greek alphabet to name storms) hadn’t even hit Galveston with her full impact and already her presence was being felt.  As waves churned in the Gulf the Fishing Pier took a very slow deliberate beating and eventually fell at about 10:05 pm local time.

Listen to David narrate this blog on Spotify!

The process took time.  It was nowhere near immediate.  I became engrossed by the persistence of Mother Nature while she worked in concert with the sea to slowly batter and eventually triumph over a manmade structure that erroneously felt itself invincible.  No matter how clever man may feel, Mother Nature always wins.  Every single time.  She is patient.  She doesn’t always appear just; she wields her verdict in ways that may seem at times random and heartless.

The fascination part of watching this for me was the odd sense of community that this shared experience created.  Nearly 6,000 people from all over the country suspended their Sunday night activities to watch and marvel at the sheer power and grit of nature.  As each wave pummeled the collapsing pier, it hung on by a thread to its life while everyone watching reacted in horror and amazement at the unfolding events.  This was all captured in the chat box as the comments scrolled by with “oooohhhsss” and “ahhhhssss” and the occasional “Oh, my God, did you see that?”—each highlighting a potential knockout punch from Mother Nature.  Jokes and horrible puns were tossed around to try to alleviate the underlying tension of watching this structure live out its final moments as the sea assaulted its very foundation.

I sat safely in our house with Adi nearby as she occasionally walked by to glance at the screen for updates. Adi is far less interested in the drama of the weather than I am.  She lets Mother Nature do her thing.  I analyze each moment like the Zapruder film, parsing each blow and calculating when the end will commence.

Next door at the Big House, Morticia and Gomez (Adi’s parents) tuned in after I had sent a link to their phone.  Gomez said there was nothing to worry about, just some rain and wind.  Morticia’s witchy side came out and she became engrossed by the spookiness of watching this unfold.  We sent texts furiously back and forth while we watched.  This was a piece of history about to be deposited in the Gulf.

As the night unfolded, I began thinking of the ephemeral nature of life.  Earlier in the day as Adi and I were driving on the Seawall, I said to her, “What is that building that’s on that pier?”  She pulled up her Google maps and she told me that there was no name attached to the pier.  “One day we will have to walk on the pier and just check it out,” she said to me as almost an aside.  We made very “soft” plans to do that one day in the future.

Cut to 12 hours later:  a piece of that very pier was hanging on by a thread to stay attached to the main structure.  One week prior to that, we saw a man get hit by a car on the Seawall (read here).  What was the Universe trying to tell us?  On back-to-back Sundays we witnessed how fragile life can be.  We all feel so invincible at times in our lives that it seems inconceivable that one day everything can change in a moment’s notice.

I sat glued to my screen, watching the pier as it was obviously losing its battle with Mother Nature.  There was no question as to the outcome—only when it would happen was left to be answered.

“The pier won’t make it until midnight,” I texted Mortcia.

“Even Gomez is getting a little wigged out by this,” she sent back.

“Do we leave the island?” I asked.

The thought of this settled on me.  Adi and I really don’t feel like we have a permanent home anymore.  After leaving Fort Worth, Galveston has become the place where we are hanging out hats.  I wouldn’t call it home.  I wouldn’t call anyplace home any longer.  I say this without a hint of somberness in my heart.  Adi and I feel a little bit like we are just drifting through life, which is not unlike what the pier would be doing in a matter of minutes.

After non-stop gazing at the screen to see the fate of this pier, I finally decided to get up and turn the lights out in the living room.  It was nearing bedtime and I decided to, as Adi’s family calls it, “close down the house” (I have never been privy to this nomenclature before meeting them).  The entire process took no more than 90 seconds.  When I returned to glance at the screen, the pier…was gone.  The battle had ceased, the sea the victor.  The pier, not unlike Adi and me, floated away into the sea.

Galveston 61st Street Pier:  A Goodbye

What was once a part of the fabric of the city was no more.  Driftwood, as it turns out.  Only a portion of the pier was gone.  The vast majority still stood in the sea.  Once again, this is not unlike Adi and me.  Most of our friends and family are still living very similar lives that they were living six months ago—same jobs, same home, families intact—minus some very obvious restrictions.  They are like the pier that still stands.  They have witnessed the damage but for the moment been protected by the elements.  Adi and I lost the battle with the proverbial sea and now we drift.

This isn’t scary.  It’s more liberating than scary.  Everything we believed to be true; everything that gave us a sense of security; everything that we had invested in—broke away and drifted out to sea.  Like the pier, we can be rebuilt.  We will rebuild—where is another question.

“Do we leave the island?”

This is the question.  And if we do, where would we go?  It seems as if we are truly improvising now.  I thought I had been improvising for years in comedy, but nothing was quite as real as this.  We are authentically living our yoga where we are letting go and letting God guide us.  We look for the signs and try to act upon them.  We ask for guidance and then try to act as quickly and efficiently as possible.

This is what 2020 has brought us.  Ironically, 20/20 means perfect vision.  For the first time ever, we may be seeing clearly, and our crisp vision is like nothing we have ever witnessed before.  Maybe the haze has been lifted and we are being led to our destiny.  I have to assume this is so because each morning when I rise, I say the same prayer: “God, bring today whatever is for my greatest good and the greatest good of all.”

Our greatest good lies before us and is waiting for us to claim it.  We need only, like the pier, to let go and float into the unknown.

To hear David narrate this blog listen on Spotify!