Written by the Window on a Rainy Day
It’s 2:55pm and I’m getting the kettle ready for tea.
Outside the kitchen window, I can see it’s raining; I know you like it that way—when the sky lets go in ways you wish you could.
I think we both hold on sometimes… maybe it’s just human, but regardless, it gets heavy. Weather like this makes heavy feel okay. It makes grey a wondrous and comforting color when another context degrades it into something hard to handle:
It is overwhelming—to think of all the things we can’t define and can’t control, all the questions we have no answers for, all the places where we try to find middle ground but can’t no matter how much our souls long for balance.
It all feels so elusive, doesn’t it?
Even now, I’m wondering how on earth I can be good in a world striving for the balance between fear and carelessness.
Where does faith fall on the spectrum? Where does love?
I’m not sure there’s an answer to these questions.. at least not an easy one.
But we try to make it something bigger than that.
We call people out, say there’s a right way and a wrong way—we say that about a lot of things, but the truth is: humans are not objects and we can’t put them into boxes.
You can’t grow in boxes, can’t learn, can’t change.
Change isn’t always a bad thing.
In fact, it’s usually a good thing because change takes us where we need to go.
Why are we always trying to hold on?
We’re so afraid of letting go—thinking everyone and everything is leaving us because we can’t see that we’re moving too.
We’re like ships on the ocean
passing islands and boats and
lamenting that they never stay,
but we keep on sailing anyway
because that’s what ships do;
that’s what humans do too.
Metaphors like these have given me such a deep love for the ocean—a love to see it, to hear it, to be near it, to write about it over and over again, but I still don’t want to swim in it. Why? Because I’m afraid of what’s underneath.
I’m terrified of all the things that the ocean’s depth hides.
I think we treat people the same way—some dive in, some don’t—but the worst part is when we start to believe that we’re the only ones with anything to hide.
We’re so silly, the way we make islands of ourselves.
We demonize and islandize til our souls feel marooned, but it’s so unnecessary. We’re not the only oceans with something to hide—every single one of us holds both monsters and gems within our depths.
It’s a scary thought, but it’s also a comforting one.
I think we hold onto a lot of needless fear sometimes. The rain reminds me to let go; it also reminds me of you.
I guess I have a lot of reasons to love grey skies.
