A Muddle of Puddles

I love rain.  I love everything about it.  The sound it makes when it hits your roof, the adventure of running through a storm with a flimsy umbrella, or the way you can just stay inside and watch it hit your window.  I remember when I was little and puddle jumping was like an Olympic sport in elementary school.  It was me and a bunch of other stubby-legged little kids challenging each other, trying to push ourselves off the ground and over some “enormous” puddle without getting wet.  And one rainy day while I was walking at school, I realized how indifferent I had become to puddles.  I no longer thought they were a playground; they were an obstacle course.  Being preoccupied with getting to my classes, I steered clear of the things I had so wholeheartedly enjoyed as a child.  And I just… I wonder how much of that’s true.  Not just with puddles.  With everything.  How much stuff I used to do that I don’t anymore.  How much I don’t remember, how many little things that don’t matter to me anymore.  How many dreams have I given up on?  Are they still there, somewhere?

My English teacher once suggested that we take a rain walk.  To go out while it was pouring and race little boats in the sewer streams or slip and slide through the mud.  And sometimes I think that life is full of puddles and mud and things that society generally tries to avoid.  We’re all so afraid of a challenge, a change, something that disrupts us from our routine.  We’re all told to prepare ourselves in case of a rainy day.  But maybe we should just enjoy it when it happens, or, at the very least, jump over the puddles.

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