While others eat in the dark, your house is brightly lit.

While others eat in the dark, your house is brightly lit.

It's a summer evening, dinnertime. Suddenly, the village is plunged into darkness—the power's out again. You stand in the yard, bowl in hand, watching the windows go dark one by one, listening to your neighbors grumbling and searching for candles. It's always like this this time of year: thunder, lightning, and the power goes out; wind, and the lights go out. Eating in the dark has become commonplace.

But your house is different. While others are in the dark, your house is brightly lit. The dining table is lit, the kitchen is lit, and the desk lamp for your child's homework is lit. The TV is still on, the fan is still spinning, the refrigerator is humming—everything is just like daytime. It's not that you don't experience power outages; it's that you're not afraid of them at all.

The windmill in the yard is turning; when the wind blows, the power comes back on. The power grid is down, but yours isn't; while others are in the dark, your house is bright. You sit under the lamp, eating your meal, watching the news, and listening to your neighbors' complaints outside, feeling a strange sense of peace. It's not schadenfreude, but rather gratitude for making the right choice.

The contrast is striking. Others eat by candlelight, you eat by the wind; others are in darkness, you are brightly lit; others long for electricity, you have it. It's not that fate is biased, it's that you were prepared long ago. That windmill is the biggest difference between you and everyone else.

While others are eating in the dark, your place is brightly lit. From today onward, the word "power outage" will be a thing of the past.