Why Not Then Continue To Look Upon It All As A Child Would...?

As a child growing up in very rural Oregon, I always loved walking in the rain. There was something about it that was so...real. It made me feel gloriously alive. Rain on the face, arms, whatever limbs I'd left exposed to its simultaneously de- & re- mystifying ways, had a way of taking me outside myself, beyond inner world & out into world world, something with which I've always struggled. (And yes, we can debate what real & world world mean til the butcher kills the cows, but I have yet to find a more concise & definitive argument than G.E. Moore's "Here is a hand. And here is another" in defense of the existence of the external world. Since I never could even approach a firm decision regarding that particular quandry, let's just make this a post about rain & leave it at that.) It's the quickest fix for an enduring issue. Forget hats, raincoats & galoshes, I just liked to walk in our field whenever it rained. (Which, this being, you know, Oregon, I had ample opportunity to do.)

So it was a bit out of the ordinary, then, when I went to college in Massachusetts & suddenly for the first time in my life found myself the proud(?) owner of...an umbrella (gasp!). If it was raining, the umbrella was my friend. I always chalked it up to growing up - assumed the rain simply didn't astound as it once had. The childlike wonder was replaced with irritability over sopping wet clothes. Also, the fact that around my third year I actually deigned to wear the glasses I'd been prescribed since I was 13 may have had some influence. (I still kinda miss blurry world, but that's a tale for another time.) And as anyone who wears glasses surely knows, glasses + rain = match made in hell.

As I found myself living in various areas of the East Coast, my newfound avoidance of the rain grew unabated. From Massachusetts to New York City to Pennsylvania to Virginia, I always had an umbrella or three. (This despite never actually having purchased one, umbrellas being one of those things that just kind of make their way into lives.) After many years of this, I pretty much assumed that rain & grown-up me could only communicate with each other through the umbrella-interpreter. Well, except for one night last summer when I stood barefoot & bare-headed in a constant rain listening to that song by Eddie Kendricks & that song by New Order & that song by Robyn on repeat on my iPod & chainsmoked & cried for a really long time. However, I think I was drowning myself more in vodka & tears than rain, so it doesn't really count.

But last November I learned to love the rain again. It wasn't a big deal - I was just walking in the rain. No barriers comprised of rain-retardant gear. And suddenly realized I enjoyed it again. (Don Ray's "Standing In The Rain" was my mental soundtrack, which probably didn't hurt.)

See, here's the secret: Pacific Northwest rain isn't really kin to the rain in those other states. It's immeasurably more pleasant to walk in the rain here. Usually. It drizzles, it teases, it's rain enough to be rain, but not so much rain that you feel the ill effects. It invigorates but does not overwhelm. And, best of all, as when I was a child, it still reminds me that I am alive in the world. And that the outside world is vastly more open & interesting & fascinating when you're in it, than it is when you're looking at it from the inside world. Inside is for grownups, which is not always a bad thing. But right now, outside is where I want to be. Even if my glasses get wet.