The thing about a rainstorm is that it doesn’t wait.
Of all the things that can be canceled or delayed or rescheduled — a meeting, a dentist appointment, even a tax deadline — a storm moving in, chased by thunder and lightning, refuses to bend to anyone else’s schedule. Between the curtains on the window over my sink is when I first see the trees swaying wildly in the wind, then notice that the late afternoon sun is lighting up a huge thunderhead cloud. Fluffy white columns billow higher and higher. Below it, a blanket of dark gray clouds moved in.
My heart quickens; it’s not that I need an excuse to abandon the dirty dishes, but this is the best excuse I can think of. When a storm moves in, every cell in my body signals my brain to go outside. It’s intoxicating, the electricity in the air, that feeling that the whole earth is taking in one deep breath and holding it. I am holding my breath, too.
My dog, who used to shake in fear at thunder, has given up on his phobia; when I head out to watch the storm from my porch, he wants to join me, and he seems to take a cue from me. Instead of fear, he first faces the storm clouds with ears perked, on high alert. Eventually, though, he sighs and drops down to lay on his side and watch the rain. A few stray drops tickle his nose and ears. They twitch a little.
When the clouds finally burst and release sheets of rain, I recognize that I have exhaled along with it.
In a tidy, unremarkable, comfortable suburban existence, a good thunderstorm is a reminder that not everything is in my control. Even though we can tame Mother Nature for a minute with our lawnmowers, hedge clippers, and mulch, she is still a wild child; like a demure PTA Mom who hides her tattoos beneath the sleeves of her cardigan. This is Mother Nature’s night to party; to take to the dance floor and let out her rebellious side. She throws off her cardigan and thrashes in the strobe lights and fog.
My tidy suburban life is fraught with calendars and schedules, voicemails and emails. Just as much as I need them, I despise them; every minute of every day has already been spoken for. It can sometimes feel as though I’m living someone else’s life, just going through the motions that have already been scripted by a hulking, invisible playwright.
That’s why, I think, there is a thrill for the rainstorms, the rainbows, and the fireworks displays of the world; they are something so ephemeral and so powerful in their beauty that they demand to be noticed. They refuse to be canceled or rescheduled. If I want to see it, I have to see it now. I have to abandon whatever I’m doing and go off script.
Can we count the moments like this that we get in our lifetimes? We tick them off, one precious moment at a time: unexpectedly falling in love, witnessing a child taking their halting first steps, sounding out the first sentence in a book, or pedaling their bike down the street for the first time. We might happen to look up and glimpse one human showing another human affection: a hand on the shoulder, a soft kiss on the cheek; chasing after a stranger to let them know they dropped something. I wish there were more of those moments to remind us that we are a single tiny grain of sand. All the arbitrary pressures, goals, and deadlines we inflict on ourselves and others? They’re really nothing. We are playing a small role in this giant spectacle. Maybe that isn’t a comforting feeling for some of you, but it’s comforting to me. When I am feeling the weight of the world on my shoulders, it is a relief to yield to something greater than myself. To me, the wind whipping the leaves on the trees and bolts of electricity shooting through the air are the perfect reminder that there is beauty in a bit of danger. There is excitement in the unknown. We are not responsible for everything in our universe of existence. We can’t possibly be. Who would want to be?
I will need to be reminded of that over and over, which is why I will leave the dishes and let the rice burn on the stove. I will drop everything to be outside to witness and be part of the powerful storm that refuses to bend to anyone.
