When it Rains, it POURS

Reading time: 5 – 8 minutes

That cliché is SO appropriate right now in my life. I’m not even going to go into the details, and only because this blog has taken such a dark turn, it is time for some light.

But still, I did get caught in a HUGELY WET downpour yesterday on my errands.

I left in my little shorts, t-shirt, and sandals; traipsing to the grocery store for some dinner items and household needs. It was just a bit of a sun-shower at that point and I don’t mind the rain. I actually like it and I LOVE storms. And I rarely use an umbrella. In fact, umbrellas are probably the most violent means of selfishness on any city street.

Have you ever been GOUGED by the wires of someone’s umbrella as he or she barges forward with no sight or bearings?! It is truly violating. I think people should take “Umbrella-Use Classes.” I think the city should require a license to carry one. And it would be REALLY easy to pull from the crowd anyone who hadn’t passed the Umbrella Class. They would be the ones skewering everyone else’s eyes and knocking other people into the street and into walls as they freakishly scurry along as if they will just DIE if they get a drop of rain on them.

So… anyway… as I stood in line to leave the grocery store, it was like the windows all dropped from sun-shower light to a white-grey wetness and I couldn’t see anyone on the sidewalk. I stepped out onto the sidewalk for my retreat home, but found a throng of people huddled just outside, under the awning of the grocery. When I saw the super-fast flooding streets, I thought twice about walking casually out into it as I would normally have done. I stood with the gang and watched the street fill so fast with water that it would take a rather powerful leap to get anywhere onto the other side of the stream that was building. It was like a mini-raging river!

After about 10 minutes, I just couldn’t wait any longer and I braved it. I just walked out into it and the water washed up and over and into my sandals as deep as my ankles. I could barely see because of the water in my eyes running down from my now-plastered hair. I got home, but I was soaked beyond recognition.

Can you see that even the bones in my face are wet?

Now, the reason I’m even writing about this downpour is because I realized that my behavior in the rain is similar to my behavior toward life. I think I live as if I ASSUME I am going to get wet and that however inconvenient it is, I will survive. Furthermore, I know that there is a nourishment in the rain that far outweighs the inconvenience. Thinking about this made me wonder how much one could discover about a person by observing his or her behavior in a rainstorm on the street.

If you were to describe your life in terms of how you handle a rainstorm, what would that say about you? I wonder…

So as I said, “When it rains, it POURS.”

As you can see from the anonymous poster who has taken a liking to taunting me, public journaling has its discomforts. When you write so personally and freely, it is SO LIBERATING, yet it is scary enough that I can see why people only use their blogs as a form of entertainment, or commentary. I took on the practice of blogging so that I could have a record of my inner and outer growth, and if someone can relate to it, then that would be a bonus! In my line of work (counseling, teaching) it isn’t new for me to be exposed and vulnerable to strangers. There is a delicious joy in risking everything just to be real and present in your life.

There is a lesson in freeing yourself from the shame of grief, sadness, happiness, self-celebration. I mean, until you are comfortable enough with yourself and your feelings to the extent that ANYONE can say what he or she thinks about them, and you feel very little need for defense, then there is still a bit of shame around certain things in your life. Of course, it doesn’t feel good that someone would diminish my feelings and experiences by making rude or nasty comments, but that’s okay. His or her opinion is just an offering, I suppose.

Still, there is something creepy about heckling coming from the darkness of anonymity. There’s an air of weird threat about it, and an air of cowardice that is of the likes that lead to something more violent.

WELCOME, though, to Mr. or Mrs. Anonymous Heckler!

Maybe some direct attention to you will help you feel the warmth you may need to thaw your cold-hearted attitude. Never be ashamed to own your words. Toss those criticisms at me like bricks through the windows of my emotions. That’s fine. I can take it. But I invite you to write your name and remain connected to your attempts to hurt another person. And might I suggest that your anonymity gives me a hint that maybe your heart really is in the right place?

When someone lashes out and then runs and hides, it usually means he or she just needed someone to hear and understand his or her own story.

I’m trying to hear you…

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