Chaos
I looked down at my phone and grinned as I read the all-caps text. ROB GET INSIDE was followed by GURL THIS IS SERIOUS. I was amused by the way it was written, but not surprised. Teenagers are pretty funny, and teenagers who perform are absolutely hilarious.
A mere five minutes before this moment, my phone had buzzed with an emergency alert. There was a tornado warning and we were advised to take shelter. It wasn’t just my phone that received this notification. It went to everybody’s phone. I remember thinking, “this isn’t good.”
There were about eight of us at the local theater, preparing for a show that started in a couple of hours. This was a unique opportunity for the high school speech team I coach. We were invited to perform on stage in front of our community. The team was hyped about this as speech contests are not designed for spectators. Performances are often in small classrooms at locations more than an hour away.
The emergency warning text prompted everyone to head to the basement of the theater. I was about to join them, when I thought “I should see what things look like outside.” That seemed like something a true Midwesterner should do.
I walked out of the theater and took a few steps toward the street corner. Standing on the sidewalk at 1st Street and Main, my eyes began to focus on the brewing storm clouds. I was instantly annoyed when I considered the possibility this night would be ruined by what was likely a mere thunderstorm. As my mind drifted to think about how I ended up standing here, that annoyed feeling was quickly absorbed by an unpredictable smile.
The 186-day adventure that began on a warm September afternoon, would end on this very night. My second year as speech team coach was mere hours from bringing six challenging months to a close.
I looked around and noticed there were people walking up and down the street. Right in front of me were cars stopped at the light, the drivers smiling as if they were without a fraction of worry or concern. I shook my head in amusement at how the world carried on merely minutes after receiving an emergency alert.
With a shifting gaze, I lifted my head to admire the sinister sky. Within seconds, I became locked into an unexpected moment of stillness. I began reflecting on how a seemingly harmless storm can without warning bring an abundance of chaos. Tornadoes are a powerful example of this possibility.
Chaos is such an interesting word. It means disorder, confusion, and even unpredictability. From my perspective, it’s the word that best describes the 2022-23 speech season, and often it accurately describes me.
The year began in an overwhelming fashion. When sign-ups closed, the list of students was twice as long as last year. This included 100% of non-graduates returning, and more than fifty people listed who had not previously been part of the speech team. While it was an awesome thing and worth celebrating, it also was anxiety inducing.
The start of the season was messy. Longing to have manageable personal rhythms, I chose to schedule almost all practices and rehearsals on the same two nights of the week. As a result, we saw evenings often filled with chaos. I was spread too thin to be helpful.
As these memories flooded back, I looked at my phone to make sure everyone was safe in the basement. The group was fine, though they seemed to be getting restless. I walked back into the theater and immediately ran into one of the workers. He indicated everything was good and they would probably all leave the basement soon. I grabbed the drink I had left behind and made my way back outside.
My interest in reflecting was beginning to fade, but I chose to continue. I became startled by a sudden surge of memories. Like a punch in the gut, I was hit by ways this year where I was distrusting, disorganized, often annoyed and even obsessive. I had this moment a few months ago where someone I deeply respect told me they didn’t think they’d seen me at my best yet. That crushed me because they were right, and I didn’t know how to change it. I was seldom at my best, and it showed. I was close to quitting multiple times, and at one point I determined there was no chance I would return next year.
I once worked with a guy who sometimes referred to me as Hurricane Rob. I liked that. It felt like a good name if I were a boxer or a rapper. The unfortunate part of the Hurricane Rob moniker is what’s behind it. The name refers to my tendency to either incite or be drawn toward chaos. I sometimes think chaos is a good thing, which might be part of the problem.
I don’t know how long I was outside that theater, awkwardly staring into the sky. When I snapped out of my dazed state, the storm looked even less threatening than earlier. I checked my phone, and there were no updates. The students had connected with their parents and were with the executive director of the theater. I felt some freedom to take a short walk down main street. I decided to make a quick jaunt to the Mexican place down the street, thinking it might be my only opportunity to grab some dinner.
I walked into Pablo’s Mexican Grill, quickly noticing I was the only customer. I started to consider my order when my phone buzzed. It was a notification from a group text that said “I think the news said there was a tornado heading downtown.” I rolled my eyes until I noticed the following texts affirmed this report. I said out loud “wait. this IS downtown!” To think there was a time when my parents thought I might be a genius.
I stood at the Pablo’s window with one of the employees. We peered outside, wondering if anything had changed. In an instant, the sky opened up and a downpour began. The winds rapidly picked up. Without delay I did the complete opposite of what my elementary school teachers taught us to do in the event of a tornado. To the complete shock of the man whom I was standing next to, I dashed out the door.
I was prompted to this abrupt exit by a simple thought. I was no longer in proximity to the students. In my often-far-fetched-worst-case-scenario mindset, I thought to myself, “if this tornado is going to hit them, it’s going to hit me too!” I felt brave and even noble, forgetting that I was literally just in a restaurant getting dinner while they hunkered down in a dark basement. I can’t help but laugh as I recall that moment, but prepare yourself as this part of the story is about to get worse.
Like bad ideas to my brain, the rains flowed in an overwhelming fashion. I sprinted down Main Street, feeling my clothes get heavier with each passing moment. I had a flashback to several years ago when I witnessed the aftermath of tornado destruction in a downtown area about an hour away. I wondered if I was moments from seeing our downtown experience that same fate. Making note of the absence of both cars and people, I ran faster, water sloshing with each step. I looked around as I ran, wondering where I could take shelter if the twister hit. Finally, I returned back to the theater, gasping for air like a fish on a table. I made it. I was triumphant. Rest assured everyone; your hero has arrived.
Unfortunately, almost immediately after my return, the rain ceased and the others exited the basement. I stood there drenched by the taunting rain, feeling less heroic and more invested in keeping this story to myself, at least in that moment. I smirked as I realized just how soaking wet I was, and in an instant, a single word came to mind. Chaos.
Sometimes I cause it, other times it finds me. Occasionally it’s a little of both. Nevertheless, once again there had been chaos, and I was in the midst of it.
The storm passed, allowing 150 people to gather in an old Iowa theater and enjoy tremendous performances. The show carried on, and of course the night was magnificent. The students loved being part of it, the people who came had a great time, and there was a lot of talk of “when the team does this next year.”
Weather has often played a significant role in my life. God has used it to communicate blessing, warning, and even hope. On this night, it was impossible to miss the parallel between the weather and the speech season.
Throughout the year, there were both storms and tornadoes. The tornadoes were often a result of frantic winds caused by Hurricane Rob. When the storms came, whether or not I caused them, I always reacted. Sometimes I went into the basement and hid, hoping to avoid it all. Other times I stepped out for some tacos, choosing what I wanted over what was best for others. More often than not, I ran through the storm alone and without a plan, getting drenched by rains that fell like daggers from the sky.
Yet on this final night, the tornado never came. The storm passed. The chaos was momentary.
This experience moved me to question and re-think why I coach this team. At the risk of being overly vulnerable, I was extremely unhappy for much of this season.
Hurricane Rob sometimes turned into psychopath Rob. I say that with no disrespect to psychopaths. You do you.
I sometimes found myself being controlling, obsessive, irritable and more. My brokenness was on display for all to see. I often wanted to run away, but I continued to coach as best as I could.
I coach this team, not because every aspect of it brings me joy. I coach this team because I love these people, I love doing this season of life with them, and I believe this community is special. There are so many things to love about this opportunity I’ve been given.
I loved each of the 50 one on one meetings I had with students to start the year.
I loved the post-rehearsal hangs and the after-school connections.
I loved seeing students step up to lead and influence their peers, making each other better and having fun along the way.
I loved seeing coaches sacrifice to help students get better.
I love that two of our most successful coaches this year are juniors in high school.
I love that our team set school records for success, which points to the growth they have shown as performers and communicators.
I loved the bus rides, the contests, the practices when I was able to just be present.
At times, I even loved the chaos. Only at times though.
When our final performance wrapped up, I ended up at Applebee’s with a group of students. This group experienced more chaos than most. Some of the chaos was of their own doing but much of it was a result of Hurricane Rob.
Looking around that table, I thought about the deeply meaningful relationships, cherished memories, and unforgettable experiences that somehow emerged from chaos.
In the days that followed, the Instagram posts reflected students love for speech and ways they already miss it. Nobody is talking about the chaos.
The other day I did a poll to see if the team wanted an end of the year party. Within twelve hours, 2/3 of the team had already voted, and 99% of them said YES, they want it. I have a student who has already stepped up and offered to provide leadership for this event. Out of the chaos has emerged something that’s pretty darn special.
I’ve been thinking how when we find ourselves in the midst of chaos, it can become the only thing we see. We feel surrounded, overwhelmed, even overcome by it.
Standing on Main Street, staring into the sky, I had a thought that I’ll be holding onto.
When I step out of the chaos or move past it, I start to see it was never ALL chaos to begin with.
Often, I only see the destruction I cause. It’s not easy being a hurricane. I am trying to become more like a tropical storm. Baby steps I suppose.
With that being said, I accept that destruction can help lead us to the destination. That destination can be good. For many on this team, it was exactly that. It was good.
Chaos doesn’t last forever. We survive it, we step out of it, we move past it. It was never all chaos to begin with, but you can’t usually see that when you’re in it.
I don’t know what the next chapter of the story looks like, but I do know this one will not soon be forgotten. I am going to enjoy this one for a while longer.
I also know whatever comes next, it will undoubtedly involve even more chaos.