I used to be afraid of the rain. I thought it would dissolve the facade of me being OK. Strip me of my smile and uncover a season of sad that the summer camoflauged with frosty beers and a tan. The cold and the grey brought out my depression and made me feel alone in this big, huge world. Then, someone reminded me that the rain washes things away and wipes the slate clean. From it, things flourish. I forgot that the rain births the flowers and from rain, comes the rainbows.
I took a walk the other day only to realize it was drizzling once I got outside. The gate locked behind me and the thought of going back upstairs to grab my umbrella was dramatically unfathomable. As I got further away from my apartment it began to rain, and I could feel my pants start to stick to my thighs. Instead of turning back, I kept walking. And instead of bundling up, I took off my mask and kissed the sky. It had been a while since I felt like I had been watered.
There's something to be said about people who walk in the rain. Those who face their fears and dance in the puddles. The souls who not just survive, but thrive through the thunderstorms. The thing is, the people who walk in the rain can be the same people who cry in the rain too. They can also be the same people who stay inside while it's pouring, curled up on the couch under a blanket with a good book or show. Healing is ongoing and no one is exempt from feeling under the weather, but the people who walk in the rain? They know how to grow something beautiful from dirt.