Finding Forty

A reflection on safety, memory, and preparation

We don’t always notice the ways we create warmth until the world goes cold.

A winter storm, a fragile power grid, an all-electric house — suddenly preparation becomes visible. A warm room plan. Heat packs tucked into blankets. Bottles warmed by human hands instead of outlets. The house quietly holding its breath and its heat.

On the surface, it’s just weather readiness. Underneath it lives something older: memory, instinct, and the quiet intelligence of a nervous system that learned early how to keep people safe.

Since we’re all electric, we’ve got a cozy warm room plan, heat packs ready, and enough insulation to ride out a few days if needed. Worst case, once roads clear, we’ll head to Mom’s. The logistics are simple. The steadiness underneath them took a lifetime to build.

I grew up in foster care where statistics were shared early and often — numbers about instability, homelessness, and the odds stacked against kids like me. Somewhere along the way, preparedness became a form of safety. Knowing how to survive wasn’t fear-based. It was how you stayed okay in a world that could change without warning.

I never imagined that instinct would one day extend to preparing warmth for tiny bodies. Bottles wrapped in heat packs. Blankets layered just right. Listening for the quiet rhythms of breathing in the dark. The stakes feel different when you’re protecting more than just yourself.

There’s a strange tenderness in realizing how the past still shows up — not as something broken, but as something skilled. My nervous system remembers how to build margin. How to create backup plans. How to stay steady when conditions shift.

And also — I’m not that kid anymore.

I have a partner.

A safe home.

Family nearby.

Reliable transportation.

Community.

Resources.

Choices.

The preparation now comes from love, not fear.

“We’re warm in more ways than one.”

Sometimes I laugh at myself — the foster care homelessness training definitely kicks in during weather like this. But I also honor it. That younger version of me learned how to keep people safe with what little control she had. She grew into a woman who creates warmth, literally and figuratively.

We’re prepared.

We’re okay.

We’re warm — in more ways than one.

And tonight, that feels like quiet abundance.