The first time I saw the wave rise above, I underestimated it. It won’t touch us, I thought. We’re too far, too high, too fast. Then I saw it pick up the SUV driving on the road in front of us and sweep it up and out into a horizon I could no longer see. The water’s movements were effortless and erratic, like a toy car caught in the tantrum of an impatient three year old.

As is usually the case for dreams rooted in survival, I quickly became occupied with the act of saving my family members. Taking hold of a moment of lucidity, I picked them up individually with my mind and placed them elsewhere, fully aware that the illusion was no threat to their safety, but also taking no chances. The wall of water flowing upwards like a reversed waterfall seemed ominous and dark and I decided I would rather not take any chances.

My sister, I placed somewhere far downtown, working in her office high rise, away from the reach of the waves. My brother I placed in the heights of Dunton tower, safe, studying. My parents, out of town on a vacation where waters were still and serene. Practical and simple, but I soon realized, a futile exercise. They would remain untouched even in this dimension because this was a wave that was mine and mine alone. A tsunami adorned with frothy limbs, layered with the choices I have made over the time it had taken for it to brew to it’s full potential. A wall of unstoppable change that took no prisoners and set free every promise I had made and that had been made to me. Over and over again, moving forward with change and pulling back with a strength that pulled away at intentions, uprooted trees and reconstructed scenery, it swept memories and gargled through my heart with a cleansing force. I couldn’t help but grudgingly admire its devastating power.

At first I sought refuge in a house which somehow seemed to stand above the wreckage, where stray dogs and cats washed up scared and shivering, pulling themselves first into the rooms and then, as the tide rose higher with each returning wave, onto the roof. The rest of us simply followed, trusting in the animal instinct to survive. I remember finding a life jacket, ironically donning it on to kill my own mistrust and when that final wave started its slow, elegant march towards our now wrecked sanctuary, I knew it was time. Embracing myself, I took her advice. Always look towards the wave, she had said. Face it, step into the belly of the beast, trace its insides with your fingertips and get to know it well. Important change always comes in tsunamis.