I love rainy days, not just for the soothing splatter or the cooler temperature — great for a hot bowl of soup or a cuppa — it’s an event that forces me to slow down and get in touch with myself.
The most memories seem to come off rainy days it seems. Be it during a wonderful hike, a bad breakup, and even just being in the room working on nothing life impacting, there’s always a moment of looking out the windows to ponder about the moment.
I recall squatting below some form of shelter by the roadside during a sudden downpour, ticking and clocking passengers in taxis that passed by as part of a survey work to earn some pocket money in my teens. At that moment it felt like just another day at work. Looking back now, that was not just an indication of my own lack of finance, but a real moment of me-time: how often do we all actually stop to appreciate our circumstance and situation before moving forward in a different direction? I promised myself never to work dead-ends then.
Fast forward many years, each time it rains some former memories surface that allows my unconscious inside to be who I was and am. I relish the little flashbacks that appear visually fresh and solid, tracking my own growth in almost every aspect. Not to say other experiences are not critical to my being, but rainy days has that extra special effect of reaching into the memory banks and hashing, or perhaps rehashing timelines of the time on earth.
And all the wonderful menial things done that brought us joy on these days. Just once more perhaps, it be nice to step out into the rain and step on puddles.
What was your most memorial rainy day?
