From where I sit today, if I keep my eyes above the level of the floor scattered with sharp-edged plastic toys and kids still in their pajamas, I see the steady, gentle rain of a spring shower. On days unencumbered by the tyrannical schedule of a busy family of six where I can sit and catch my breath, I consider this meditation weather. On other days, it’s merely another tick on the long list of annoyances that gather as I find myself overstretched and unmoored. But after the past few months we’ve had, today’s rain and the quiet contemplation it brings is quite welcome.
There is something about this weather that makes me acutely aware of the spaces that surround me. The grey, edgeless sky brings the contours of my world into relief, focusing my attention on the boundaries that sometimes overlap and sometimes diverge, making me more aware of margins that I don’t often consider. The difficulty of finding center—a center always pulled by the calculus of the shape of the roles we play, the geometry of our environments, the mass of our responsibilities, the weight and buoyancy of our failures and successes—ia always a bit more clear after the gift of time spent in reflection. This is what rainy weather offers me: a space to think, to feel gravity, to place actions and responses along a new axis, to realize that life is often difficult, and messy, and answers aren’t always obvious, to remember that all of this is OK and a part of the experience of being human. When the rain must fall, if I can welcome it as a reminder to be human, to be humane, then maybe I can weather difficult times with more grace.
I have missed this space as I have navigated others that needed my attention. I am many things to many people and I believe I will always struggle with the realization that there will never be enough time as there are items on the to-do list.
And in the hours it has been in writing what should have taken a few minutes, the rain has stopped and the sun is slowly beginning to break through, just as it should.