Strange How Hard It Rains Now

Recently, I discovered my love for the rain. It is a rather uncommon opinion to come by, especially among my inner circle. Oftentimes, I even find myself dancing alone in the rain, especially living in the swamp of D.C. throughout the summer. The most common opinion I’ve heard about the rain, in general, is that it’s more enjoyable to stay inside and get comfortable and watch from afar. Another common perspective is that it seems like God is angry or the sky is crying. I shared these opinions at one point, solely because those were the opinions that I had been surrounded by my whole life. I get it. I used to hate the rain too. I am already blind as it is so I either have to deal with the rain blurring my glasses or getting under my contact lenses. Being cold and wet is also understandably undesirable. Overall, I understand how it can be an unpleasant experience. 

However, as I’ve grown older, I’ve come to appreciate the rain despite the frustration of not being able to see three feet in front of me. I like throwing myself into the downpour. It just doesn’t bother me. There is beauty that transcends my sight alone that fills up the rest of my senses. How the raindrops refresh my skin. How the air smells of release and freedom. How the sound of the water beating against the pavement provides a rhythm of nature that a clear day craves.

As I mentioned, this new perspective has grown rather recently. I just found myself recalling a handful of memories that took place in the pouring rain — all of them bittersweet. The kind of memory that you don’t realize is special until weeks or even months later. The kind of memory that you love but don’t quite know why. The kind of memory that echoes again and again through your soul. The kind of memory that you can’t describe in detail but you remember the joy it caused. The kind of memory that you don’t cherish until it’s gone. 

But those memories are just that — memories. And just like the rain, they start to slip away. The winds of change bring about a new season and suddenly you’re left missing something that maybe wasn’t even yours to begin with. You start to think that maybe you’re the storm itself…

“Strange how hard it rains now.” (Patty Griffin)

Rain storms don’t come often, but when they do, inevitably the memories of the storm before that, and the storm before that, etc. come to the surface. The memories almost seem disconnected. They’re not, but it seems as though I’ve been moving through stages of my life rather quickly. It is no wonder that the phrase, “when it rains, it pours” is used so frequently. Rain storms, like the storms of life, many times are not just rain. They come with dark clouds and rolling thunder. They come with terrible bolts of lightning and treacherous floods. The joy of refreshment and the exhilaration of challenging the storm are sometimes just not enough to overcome the perils. Sometimes you’re the only one who wants to dance in the rain. Sometimes you’re left to brave the storm alone. 

Yet, why do I hold onto the hope that when the rain inevitably comes, that it might be only that? Only rain. No lightning. No thunder. No flood. A fantasy of a light springtime rain that brings nothing but joy and new beginnings. A dream that I think I have started to convince myself is truly just that — a dream. When will I learn?

Perhaps the rain has all odds against it. Indeed, it is important that we are prepared for the storms of life — all dangers included. More importantly, however, we need the strength to hold onto hope that the springtime rain dream will come true — even if it seems like a secret hope at first. Despite the odds. Despite the disappointment. Despite the floods of yesteryear. 

We all have storms in life. Life is scary. Life is unfair. Life is messy. Life is fucking hard. That is probably the only guarantee that we have in this world. However, our strength lies not only in hope but also in an openness to move on and a heart to forgive. Allowing ourselves the grace to forgive the storms of life while protecting ourselves from drowning in them is admittedly a difficult balance that I believe we all struggle to find. Acknowledging that the storms have hurt us and knowing that they will do so again in the future are not easy pills to swallow. Forgiveness is hard work. Forgiveness is not for the fainthearted. Forgiveness is not for the weak. Forgiveness is not the easy way out. 

But what is the alternative? 

I cannot bear the thought of living in a world without second chances — whether it be on the giving or receiving end. Being hard-hearted doesn’t work. Believe me, I’ve tried it many, many times in the past. It never works — not ever. Growing older has brought about becoming softer in demeanor, but I am far from where I want to be. I am far, far from perfect. But I digress. 

Perhaps, after all, it is not the rain itself that I love. Perhaps, I love the fact that I am never truly alone in the rain. Perhaps, it is the hope that the skies will clear after the storm that I love. But with each storm that comes and goes, the cycle begins and ends over and over again. Sometimes, I have to treat those fleeting memories with tough love (but never without kindness). Sometimes, I have to resist the urge to beg them to stay. Sometimes, I have to dig up the courage to tell them, “Goodbye, my darlings.” Sometimes, I have to let time forgive. Even if it feels like the hardest thing in the world to do. Even if it is the last thing that I want to do.

Memories are memories. Some things belong in the past. The “almosts” are perhaps the hardest to let go of. I used to think holding on made me strong, but that could not be further from the truth. It’s like learning the monkey bars. Learning to let go has not only made me stronger but also has enabled me to move forward. To latch onto the next thing. 

Certainly, it is important to acknowledge all the mistakes, emotions, and sentiments that come with the past. I do not regret experiencing the storms head-on. Repeatedly throwing myself into life and love has not only provided me with incredible memories but also invaluable lessons. Be that as it may, I need to give myself a fighting chance to see the sun. A second chance to live for the sake of not only the future but for right now. 

Obviously, with every heartache comes sorrow. With every storm comes the rain. But then I look up — through the raindrops, through the wind — and I see the people in my life who hold their arms open with a dry towel no matter how much I insist on braving the storm alone. I see joy. I see love. I see forgiveness. I see family and friends that have become family. 

I realize that that is why I cherish the rain. I realize that each and every storm of my life has revealed to me something more beautiful than the danger. I realize that the rain does wash away at least some of the burdens of life. I realize that forgiveness truly does exist — forgiveness of the past, forgiveness of others. All of it. 

Strange how hard it rains now.

Patty Griffin

“Strange how hard it rains now.”

But how lovely it is when it passes.

So, here’s to the next storm. Here’s to letting go of the hurt yet holding onto the hope. Here’s to letting myself dream of a rain that truly washes away every transgression. A rain that forgives life’s mistakes and struggles. A rain that I truly don’t believe we will ever experience in this lifetime. The Final Rain will come someday. The Perfect Storm will come at the end of our lifetime here on Earth. No lightning. No thunder. No flood. And that is a day that I will wait for with both patience and hope. 

Until that day, I fully intend to continue to dance in the rain of this life by myself — but never alone.