02/25/2026
As many of you know, Arnold, California was hit by an intense snowstorm this past week. It shouldn’t have taken anyone by surprise ~ we were warned for days.
So we did what you do up here: stocked up on gas, food, wood, water… all the basics.
First the electricity went out. Then the internet.
I’ve lived on this mountain for over 16 years, so my first response was honestly: Great. No TV.
Because a power outage in a mountain home sounds romantic… candles, a fire, board games, simple living.
But your nervous system doesn’t care about romantic.
It goes straight into overdrive.
The days become nonstop effort: snow blowing, shoveling, hauling wood, keeping the fire going, checking the generator, watching the fuel, hoping the roads clear in time. Underneath all of it is the quiet prayer:
Please let this ease up before we run out of gas for the generator.
And the danger is real ~ you see it in the massive pines down all around you, some hitting homes, some barely missing roofs, taking power lines, crushing whatever’s in their path. It’s sobering in a way that reorders your priorities instantly.
When fear rises ~ because it does ~ you notice it. You don’t feed it. You steady your voice. You give your family an extra hug… an extra I love you… and you keep moving so no one panics.
And the blessings of abundance start looking different.
A cup of coffee feels like gold.
A warm room feels like wealth.
One good log on the fire feels like relief.
And then there’s the part that quietly restores your faith:
Neighbors, crews from all over, working around the clock in very dangerous situations.
You check on each other. You help dig out a driveway. You share what you’ve got ~ wood, a battery, a warm drink, a quick “Are you okay?” And in those moments, community stops being a nice idea and becomes real support ~ the kind that steadies everyone’s nervous system.
When the snow finally stops, your heart fills with gratitude. Not gratitude as a concept ~ gratitude as a full-body exhale.
Snowstorms are part of living in these amazing mountains.
But you don’t have to live in the mountains to know what it feels like to be in a different kind of storm.
We all go through seasons where we’re in survival mode instead of thriving ~ one crisis after the next ~ with our nervous system in overdrive, affecting our emotions, health, and relationships.
And this is exactly when we need to pause. Not to pretend everything is fine ~ but to widen our view enough to remember what’s still here. Because abundance isn’t always extra. Sometimes abundance is simply enough: shelter, nourishment, warmth… and people you love.
Storms come in many forms.
And they have a way of narrowing life down to what’s real: safety, connection, and the small blessings we usually rush past.
And when life puts us in survival mode, the way back isn’t “push harder”… it’s return to safety.
Notice what’s here. Breathe it in. Let gratitude soften your body.
That’s how we find abundance again—one small, true thing at a time.
If you know someone riding out a storm right now, send this to them.
With love and alignment,
Maura
