I TOLD YOU SO

Sometimes when it rains we wake up and feel sluggish, sometimes even before we knew it was going to rain, or is raining; as if maybe we didn't adjust the pillow or blanket right, got up on the wrong side, like our bodies know before we realize. Sometimes I feel like this too, and other times the rain is like a much needed break. As if the sunshine was a farce and the rain was cruel, bitter, real-life's dress down day. Like nature is putting on a show whenever the sun is shining: Everything is okay! Everyone is good! But when it rains it's like what happens when the curtain goes down after some highly acclaimed broadway production, the costumes are stripped and left strewn about, a flash flood of pigment barrels through pipes and under the ground. Rain is honest.

On days when it rains and I can understand the underlying significance, the deep philosophical longing and fulfillment rain brings I can stand outside under an umbrella or even dripping and drenched with cotton sticking to my skin feeling hydrated straight to my bones, and it's a relief.

So today was one such day.

I stole some time at the water's edge and I tiptoed passed the remains of an old wooden wall, a forgotten broken barrier between the constant rushing and crashing, pulling and dragging, and me. I dare the storm to do its worst. Rain, wind and the tides, I'm not afraid of anything here. I'm not thinking about lightning, or technical terms or how to be smart, I'm only reminding myself of what a weather forecaster let slip out and float, through the storm, through the air, through radio waves and straight to me. Like maybe I was the only one who caught it, like maybe it was a gift from time and from the feeling you get in those moments you know it's more than just a series of obscure coincidences and numbers. Gift-wrapped with a bow and a card and an arrow straight to my heart. My very own gale, with a target painted on my back I know it's heading straight for me, but I stand firm and as tall as I can and remind myself I can't back down. If I back down it won't be easier, it won't be over, the waves will grab hold of my limbs and rip me from the land and what then? There are no ships among the waves, not here, this is only for pleasure sailing. No hardened old men who are doing what needs to be done with teeth chattering in this paralyzing rain. Wind that's knocking me around, just under a hundred pounds worth of girl is no match, this I know. But still I'm grounded, I'm growing roots that allow me to bend and sway but also stay. And the deeper they reach the harder it is to accept what not backing down means, but we'll take it as it comes, one inch at a time.