Walking In The Rain

I was lying on my bed, reading, when I heard the rain against the roof and the glass. I put down my kindle, walked out to the front porch and stood there, watching the rain fall in the dark morning. The rain was accompanied by the wind, and so standing beneath the porch occasionally I'd feel the spray on my face and hands.


I stood there for a few minutes, watching, listening. It had been a while since Austin or I had last seen the rain.

I went back to my room and put on a camouflage hoodie from Guatemala, a pair of running shorts, slipped on my flip-flops, and grabbed my flashlight. Fashion has never been one of my strong suits, and I know it's a bad sign when I am aware of how ridiculous I look. 

Donning this strange getup, I walked back outside, this time not stopping beneath the porch. 

I walked in to it all, forgetting that my glasses were on. Within seconds I could see nothing but fog and water droplets, so I stuffed my glasses into a pocket and everything, already hazy in the fog and blurred by the water, became a little less sharp.

And I walked. Past "do not enter" signs, past trees bowing to the wind, past houses with christmas lights. I walked through a storm that Singapore would have been proud of -- turning streets into little creeks, flashes of lightning making everything bright as day for a second, maybe less. My flip-flops made lots of noise, though not quite as much as the intermittent thunder. I walked through the neighborhood park, my flashlight cutting through the rain to make sure I avoided stray branches and massive puddles.


Every now and then I would stop walking and just listen to the thunder and the rain and the wind.


Somewhere along the way my mind left the neighborhood and found its way into the place where I keep my dreams, my picture of the future. And as certain as it was raining, I could see what my dreams were. I want to see the rain of Southeast Asia again, and to sit in a pub in Ireland as I shake off the rain and the cold. I want to come home from a 90 mile rides in the rain and take an absurdly long hot shower with amazing water pressure and then rest my legs and read and watch movies until I fall asleep. I want to come home to a happy house, where there's a view of something beautiful and simple. I want to fly into the great cities of the world at night because there's something stunning about the mixture of light and darkness and being so high above it all.  I want to pick up the phone and call everyone I love and just say "I did it... I actually did it."


And then the thunder would crack across the sky and I'd be back in a quiet neighborhood, dressed like a child who's been given the permission to decide their own outfit for the first time. I'd click my flashlight on, make sure there wasn't anybody following me and no stealthy water snakes trying to sneak a bite on my ankle and then I'd move along, wondering what the rain felt like in Ireland and what Berlin looks like at night.