Storms, Stillness & a Subtle Reset

Wow—what a night. What a storm. And honestly… how much rain can the sky possibly hold?

I spent last night in Morrilton, smack in the center of a tornado watch area, and while we were spared the worst of it here, areas just north and south didn’t fare as well. As darkness fell, I stood by the window of my hotel room and watched the sky come alive. Sheet lightning lit up the night like a strobe light in slow motion. Thunder rolled so deep it felt like the ground was humming. And I knew—just miles away—the same conditions were giving rise to massive tornadoes, tearing through places with a force I can’t even begin to imagine.

Moments like this remind me just how small we are. In the face of weather, of nature, of the universe itself—we’re tiny. But it’s powerful to feel that smallness from a safe place. To witness the sheer energy of a storm, not just with your eyes, but with your whole being.

Not long after the rain started, I noticed water leaking in beneath the door. A puddle had already formed. I grabbed my shower towels to soak it up, then rolled one up tightly to block more water from creeping in. I lifted all my belongings off the floor and onto higher furniture—just in case. The building sits a bit above the road, so I didn’t really expect the room to flood… but with water pooling so quickly, it was impossible to know how it would drain overnight.

By morning, I was relieved to see that the towel had held strong. The floor stayed dry. I swapped out the towel for a fresh one and prepped another for tonight—just in case. When I got up around 7am, there was a short break in the rain. Just enough time to step outside and stretch my legs a bit before the downpour returned. And wow, did it return. It’s been pouring relentlessly all day and isn’t expected to ease until at least 4pm—only to begin again later tonight.

But no stress. I had already decided yesterday that today would be another rest day. It wouldn’t make any sense to walk for hours through what’s being called a once-in-a-century rainfall. And, as I’ve mentioned in earlier posts, I expected this pause. I knew there’d be moments when I’d need to slow down and listen to what the journey—and my body—was telling me.

And so, here I am. Resting. Resetting. Healing.

There’s something quiet and beautiful about being forced to stop. To be still. I can’t even go out of my room for most of the day, but that’s okay. This is all part of the journey. A time to reenergize. A chance to check in with myself before I head west again toward the Pacific.

If the rain clears later, I’ll walk out to buy some water and a few supplies. Tomorrow morning, I’ll decide whether to continue or wait another day. No rush. No pressure. The road will still be there.

Thank you for sticking with me while the World Run takes a little pause. This isn’t a stop—it’s a breath. And the next steps are just around the corner.