So I went outside and stood in the rain.
It didn’t feel good. It felt wonderful and uncomfortable and like I had found exactly what I was supposed to be doing at that moment in time.
Something I think about a lot is what I’m supposed to be doing. Can we ever do anything in any moment other than what we’re supposed to? I often get the feeling we can. It feels like vine branches, inching up my spine and taking nauseated hold of my stomach, my hands.
This felt like rain. Liquid medicine dripping from the cloud soaking straight through my flannel checkered pajamas to my skin. It was cold but it burned, sizzled on my freckles and straight down to my toes. I’m sure at least one person dry inside looked out their window and thought, why is that guy standing out there in the rain like it’s a sunny day in July?
I didn’t care. It had been a long time since I’d seen a sunny day and this felt like the first one in a while. I was listening. The rain was talking. It was saying, stop worrying about picking up your pieces. This is a storm. And you’re standing in it. But storms don’t last forever and your sunny days will come again.


8 thoughts on “Storm

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