A Very Strange Week in Littleton

Yesterday’s episode of North of Normal with Marlaina Renton felt strangely symbolic from beginning to end.

Marlaina and I had already been having one of those conversations where time seems to disappear. She was walking me through the different chapters of her life and all the unexpected turns it had taken over the years. Leaving home at sixteen. Helping care for her grandparents. Becoming a painter and designer. Becoming a fitness instructor even though speaking in front of people terrified her. Eventually helping build Rek-Lis Brewing from a tiny beginning into what it is now.

At one point, she started telling me about her years teaching fitness classes. She said she used to put an enormous amount of pressure on herself to teach perfectly. She wanted every movement right. Every cue right. Every class smooth and professional. But one day, she made a mistake while teaching a class, and afterward, someone came up to her and told her they were actually glad she had messed up because it made her seem more human.

And I am not even kidding you, at the exact moment she was telling me this story, something happened on air that has never happened before in the history of North of Normal.

This loud, awful, high-pitched noise suddenly exploded through our headphones.

The kind of sound that immediately pulls your entire body out of the moment.

Marlaina stopped talking instantly. I looked over at her. She looked at me. And for a second, I genuinely had no idea what to do.

What made it worse was that I didn’t know if listeners could hear it too or if it was only happening inside our headphones. So now, while trying to continue hosting a live radio show, part of my brain was also trying to assess whether the entire broadcast was actively malfunctioning in real time.

The noise stopped briefly.

Then it came roaring back again.

Marlaina and I just kind of looked at each other and made the unspoken decision to keep going.

I fiddled with a few knobs on the soundboard because it made me feel slightly more productive, but honestly there wasn’t much I could do in the moment besides acknowledge that something strange was happening and continue the conversation anyway.

Eventually, the noise disappeared.

And afterward, I could not stop thinking about the timing of it all.

Not just because it happened while we were actively talking about imperfection and mistakes and being human, but because lately my life has felt filled with interruptions that I did not plan for, could not prevent, and could not immediately fix.

Most recently, Lyme disease.

I am in my final week of medication now, and thankfully we caught it early enough. I know how fortunate that is, and I do not take it lightly. But this experience still completely blindsided me.

The part that unsettles me the most is that I did everything ‘right’.

I had gone on two hikes two days in a row. I did tick checks both days afterward. I never even found a tick on my body. Which somehow almost makes it feel creepier to me. Even when I did everything within my power to prevent this from happening, it still happened anyway.

About a week later, something inside me started screaming that I was not okay.

That’s the only way I know how to describe it.

The exhaustion hit first, but not normal exhaustion. This was different. Heavy. Deep. My brain suddenly stopped feeling sharp, and for someone who relies so heavily on thinking clearly, that was terrifying. I remember sitting at my computer trying to work and realizing I could not think the way I normally think. My thoughts felt muddy. Everything took more effort.

Every day, the feeling got louder.

Something is wrong.

Something is wrong.

Something is wrong.

And then about six days in, I had what honestly felt like a mental crisis.

I have never experienced anything like that before in my life.

My body knew before my brain did. Something inside me was trying desperately to get my attention.

Once I was finally diagnosed and started treatment, there was relief in finally understanding what was happening, but it still wasn’t over. The exhaustion stayed. The fatigue stayed. The brain fog stayed.

And meanwhile, life kept going.

Clients still needed things.

Emails still existed.

Responsibilities still existed.

William Wallace still needed care.

Relationships still needed attention.

I remember sitting there thinking, “How am I supposed to do this?”

How am I supposed to keep all of this moving while feeling this unlike myself?

And maybe the hardest part was not knowing how long it would last.

No one could tell me exactly when I would feel normal again.

Just like that noise in the headphones yesterday.

I didn’t know if it would stop.

I didn’t know whether it was fixable in the moment.

All I could really do was acknowledge it and keep going.

Then came another interruption.

Roofers.

I woke up Monday morning to the sound of what genuinely felt like violence happening above my head. They had shown up a week early to tear out an old chimney, and suddenly there was pounding and crashing happening directly above my apartment while I was still trying to recover from Lyme disease.

I remember laying there thinking, “You have got to be kidding me.”

My body desperately needed rest. My brain desperately needed quiet. And instead, my entire apartment was shaking.

I felt so overwhelmed.

And then, right in the middle of that feeling, a friend texted me asking how I was doing.

Normally, I probably would have minimized it. Said I was okay. Tried to handle everything quietly myself.

But for some reason, this time I told the truth.

I told her how overwhelmed I felt. I told her about the roofers. I told her I didn’t know where I was supposed to rest or recover with all that noise happening.

And without hesitation, she offered me her second home in Vermont for the night and the following day.

I was honestly overwhelmed by that level of kindness.

I packed up my things and went.

And by that point, I really thought maybe the universe had finished throwing surprises at me for at least one day.

But then that night, while staying in Vermont, I got another phone call.

It was my landlord asking if I was inside the apartment because the Littleton Fire Department was there responding to concerns about a possible carbon monoxide leak.

I panicked immediately.

Thankfully I was safe in Vermont at that point. But William Wallace was still in the apartment.

I don’t think I’ve ever opened the kitty cam so fast in my life.

Ironically, that camera was a recent gift from my partner so I could keep an eye on William while away from home. And suddenly there I was staring at the screen trying to assess whether my cat looked normal while my brain raced through every possible scenario.

Meanwhile, William Wallace looked completely calm and entirely unconcerned with the unfolding drama around him.

The fire department did a full sweep of the apartment, and within an hour my landlord called back to let me know everything was safe.

But honestly, what a moment on top of all the other moments.

What a week.

One interruption after another after another.

And yet underneath all of it, something else kept happening too.

People kept showing up for me.

I postponed strategy meetings with clients because I simply did not have the mental capacity to show up the way I normally do, and every single client responded with grace and understanding.

Every single one.

I shared updates online and received messages from people I know well, people I barely know, and people I have never even met in person just wanting me to know they were thinking about me.

People offering support.

People offering quiet places to rest.

People checking in repeatedly.

People caring.

And honestly, sitting here thinking about it now makes me emotional because I never imagined having this kind of relationship with a community before.

Last week, for the first time in my life, I truly understood what people mean when they talk about belonging somewhere.

Not networking.

Not visibility.

Not “connections.”

Community. Real community.

The kind where people notice when you are struggling.

The kind where people step in before you even fully know how to ask for help.

The kind where interruptions stop feeling quite so terrifying because suddenly you realize you are not carrying everything alone.

And I think that’s why the moment with the headphones stayed with me yesterday.

Because lately life keeps interrupting me in ways I never planned for, and yet somehow every interruption keeps revealing something important too.

The noise on the radio.

Lyme disease.

Roofers tearing apart a chimney above my head.

A phone call from the fire department while I was trying to recover.

None of it was planned.

None of it was convenient.

None of it was something I would have chosen.

But all of it slowed me down enough to notice the people around me in a deeper way.

And maybe that’s part of life too.

Not just trying to avoid interruptions.

But learning what they reveal once they arrive.

And as I’m wrapping up this blog, I can’t help but laugh at the notification that just popped up from the Littleton Police Department.

⚠️ Power Outage Notice ⚠️

Beginning today at 3:00 PM, the town will be without power for approximately 2 hours due to emergency line maintenance being performed by Littleton Water & Light.Please plan accordingly and take any necessary precautions.Thank you for your patience and understanding.

Honestly, how incredibly timely and fitting for this entire moment.

At this point, life itself feels committed to the theme.

Maybe that’s exactly the point of all of this. Life is not steady. It’s not perfectly timed. It doesn’t wait until we feel rested or emotionally prepared before throwing something unexpected our way.

And yet somehow, in the middle of all the interruptions, there has also been so much kindness.

So much patience.

So much support.

So much humanity.

Enough that instead of remembering this past week as overwhelming, I think I’m going to remember it as the week I truly understood what community feels like.

And now I should probably wrap this up and hit publish before the power goes out.

-Amanda

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About Clear View Advantage

Clear View Advantage is an online reputation and visibility firm based in Littleton, New Hampshire, serving businesses and organizations across Northern New Hampshire and beyond. Founded by Amanda McKeen, the company helps businesses strengthen the trust signals customers rely on before they ever make contact — including Google reviews, local search visibility, business listings, websites, and online reputation.

Clear View Advantage believes visibility should feel human, not performative. Through strategy, storytelling, reputation management, and community-centered marketing, Amanda works alongside business owners to help them become easier to find, easier to trust, and more deeply connected to the communities they serve.