The Art of Starting Over: During the Art of War

Well, here is a turn of events I didn’t see coming. A few weeks ago, we talked about how you can still have luck on your starting over journey. Things may not be perfect, but it’s important to notice when you get lucky.

Then last week, we talked about how safety, or feeling safe, can help the journey feel more manageable. If you choose a place that makes you feel safe, then your brain can find peace through the journey.

But what happens when that safety is threatened and the very place that once made you feel safe and secure now becomes scary?

That’s what happened last weekend, and it’s almost movie-like. You really can’t make this starting-over story up.

I was in the middle of hosting a therapy retreat when, during a break, the client noticed her sister had texted and called her a few times. Things were going really well, and she didn’t want anything to interrupt her zen feeling, so she ignored the calls. She finished her session with me, went to a sound healing session, and returned to her room to find out that while we were taming her childhood wounds, a war was starting.

As she was finding out, I was too, but I couldn’t wrap my head around it. Why would Americans start a war, oh I mean “strategic strikes,” against a country they aren’t prepared to fight for the long haul? Is this real?

I don’t know much about world politics, but I know who you don’t want to make enemies with. I know when you don’t have enough allies to fight. This is true whether you’re in a street gang, a cheerleading squad, or a country.

The blog I wrote about feeling safe in the UAE and so many other countries was released on Friday. This warlike situation started on Saturday. All I could think was: what is my country’s plan?

But before I could make any predictions, as I sat on the patio at dinner, I heard a big boom. One so big it shocked us out of our chairs.

Without even thinking, I found myself inside the restaurant doors. I was afraid. Mostly afraid of the unknown, but also afraid of the known. I had just found out the US struck Iran, and I have no idea what war sounds like, but I’ve seen enough movies to guess. This was the sound of war. I don’t care what the politicians call it. In that moment, once again, America was making me feel unsafe.

I remember the relationship between the US and the Middle East from the 80s and 90s. Those programs are embedded in my cells. It was the first boom, but it was not the last. I knew there was more to come. And it doesn’t take a geographer to realize that Dubai is in the crossfire.

The retreat was over. There was still one more day of healing to do, but emotionally, the retreat was over. The client said she wanted to go home. She lived 20 minutes away from the resort and was worried about her animals and her housekeepers, and her loved ones were worried about her. Her husband was away on business and due to return the next day. A few hours later, all flights were canceled. Then the airport was hit and evacuated.

Alone in the hotel suite, I rearranged my luggage so I could take one backpack of essentials. I charged the flashlight that was in the suite and gathered as much glass-bottled water as I could find. I couldn’t decide if it was safer to shelter in place, as the US Embassy was stating, or run to my friend’s house, who lived on the resort property five minutes away.

How did I decide?

I prayed. I meditated. I even “thinkitated.” (Not a word, but you know what I’m saying.) I thought about it.

If I know the US and our latest president, he was going to make a decision that was best for him, not for me. This is why I don’t feel safe. And no matter how far I go, I am still affected by what America thinks will make America great again. I’m not sure what their definition of “great” is, but I know it’s not related to safety.

Maybe I’ll just try to sleep. Maybe it will be better in the morning.

So I laid in the bed, fully clothed, and finally drifted off to sleep, only to be awakened an hour later by an Amber Alert–like sound that shocked me awake with the most anxiety I’ve ever felt in my entire life.

I grabbed my phone and my pillow and moved away from the windows and under the desk. I waited, with fear, and read the message.

Like the message said, I sat under the desk waiting for further instructions. I waited and waited, and no instructions came. I wasn’t even sure who was giving the instructions, but I was sure they didn’t know my specific situation.

After two hours, I couldn’t wait anymore. I decided that even though I had already prepaid for the nights at the hotel, I would leave and go to my friend’s house. The client was gone, and if I had to guess, things would get worse before they got better.

So then I thought: do I want to feel lonely and unsafe, or would I rather be with people during this crazy experience?

I chose safety in numbers.

The US loves to fight the Middle East, and it appears somehow Israel has instigated a fight — like a high school mean girl. So now we are fighting, and even if it’s not officially called war, it’s not safe for me to stay in this hotel suite alone.

I gathered my backpack, left the other bags in the room, called Jason, and ran. The military movie training my brain stored told me to tell him each landmark I passed so he would know my last location. Yes, I shared my location with him, but I wanted to mix short-term tactics with long-term strategies to make it safely through this.

Along the way, I saw a hotel worker. He said, “Where are you going, ma’am?” I said, “To my friend’s house. She lives on the other side.” He said, “You are a brave soul, but I can’t let you go alone. I’ll go with you.”

In America, I would say no to a strange man offering to walk me somewhere. But what I’ve learned in one month in Dubai is that most men are protective of women. He felt a duty to protect me, even if it meant putting himself in danger.

Yes, there are good Samaritans in the US, but they are the exception, not the norm. This man is the norm in the UAE.

So I let him walk me to my friend’s house. I didn’t have to run. I let him carry my bags, as he insisted. I walked in, hugged my friend, texted my family in the group chat I created, and decided I would try to sleep.

This all started on Saturday, and there were a few more scary strikes on Dubai over the passing days. I’m still very confused about what is happening and why, but like Desert Storm, 9/11, and the Iraq War, the truth will eventually come out. A version of it anyway.

Lastly, I’ll leave you with this: the leaders of the UAE went to Dubai Mall on Monday. They ate at the eateries. They walked around the shops. They didn’t look worried. In fact, they had smiles on their faces. I know this was meant to help us all feel safe, and even if it was just a ploy, I appreciate them taking the risk to walk the mall to teach us not to be afraid.

What will be, will be.

And for that reason, I wanted to stay. However, I prayed to Allah. For the first time in my life, I said an Arabic prayer asking for direction.

I woke up with the answer.

So I’m on the move again. I don’t know if the next place will be safer, but I do know I’ll be in the right place at the right time, doing the right thing. I’ll tell you next week where I’m going.

There’s only one thing I control, me! I can’t control anyone else so I’ll focus on me. And I choose to live in faith, not fear. God speed, see you sooner… I recorded a podcast episode with a little more details if you’re curious, click here.