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.