If you know me as well as I sometimes like to think you do, you’ll know that I love the rain, as most people do. I mean, who doesn’t love the sound of rain on tin roofs? Or watching droplets race down the sides of windows?
People love the rain. It’s a perfect excuse to get out of leaving your house, and it’s kind of nice to sit inside, all bundled up with a blanket. Maybe a book. Maybe a loved one. And you just sit and watch as the rest of the world gets clean.
It’s romantic, right? Showing up on someone’s doorstep means so much more if you’re out of breath and drenched in rainwater. Even if the flowers you’re holding are ruined, it’s even more of a grand gesture. Because you went out in the rain.
But I love going out in the rain. Not to dance and splash in puddles, necessarily, or run to the houses of those I’ve deeply wronged. I just like walking. Being alone with my thoughts. Maybe a good playlist. Not having to worry about seeing another soul because everyone else is hiding inside where it’s nice and dry.
It may seem lonely, but I don’t really think it is.
I think it’s much more lonely walking around campus and not seeing a single familiar face that will greet you with a smile. It is lonelier sitting in a room and hearing roars of laughter outside. It is lonelier noticing that life is going on around you, but you are experiencing none of it for yourself.
And I guess none of that stops when rain starts to fall. People are still laughing and loving and being together. I guess it’s just that they’re not in your face as much. They’re all inside, keeping to themselves for the day.
Though I don’t know why, really. I mean, a little rain never hurt anybody.
It’s never hurt me.
So I guess I’ll just keep walking in the rain until it does.