Bob Dylan once said, ”Some feel the rain. Others just get wet”.
As I walked home from work to meet up with Jenny I thought about what she told me when she broke up with ’Mr.-not-able-to-compromise’. She had been living with this guy for almost three years and during some of this time she just got wet.
Two birds, one dog and a lovely apartment must be enough right? Focusing so much on what must be instead of what could be, really can get you lost sometimes. She couldn't falter or take one step out of line. Neither on herself or on their plans together, how could she? She had it all right?
But being grateful and happy are two different things, why is it that some of us can’t set them apart.
Meanwhile Caroline was with ’I-can’t-be-seen-in-jeans-guy’ and just got wet. He had just told her that he dropped out of school to start this new job. In another town. Two hours away. Caroline had two choices, get wet or be supportive. And she jumped, she took a shot. ’Cause he was worth supporting, and it’s not that far. Busses leave everyday and they both had things to finish on their own. She could support this, they’ll figure something out. One week of showing hearts and he put his away.
It was like dumping a bathtub over her head. Trying was asking too much, apparently.
How come that sacrificing a little for someone else is a sign of weakness and not strength?
For some of us a storm is comforting ’cause we get to go out and cross our heart that we will feel anything at all. It’s all different to each of us, getting wet and feeling it. For those who feel pain. Maybe we like the pain. Maybe we're wired that way because without it… we just wouldn't feel real. ”Why do I keep hitting myself with a hammer? Because it feels so good when I stop”. For those who’ve become numb from being (un)happily grateful for too long are happy they feel something. Anything… again.
Compromising is part of living and it comes in different sizes. Just like my jeans that I stubbornly select in one size too small just so that my legs and butt look great. I feel sleek and elegant but they’re squeezing like the seventh ring of hell and I can’t eat more than one piece of sushi or they’ll burst at the seams. And the endless desperate chase for something that either gets me soaked or makes me feel. Both are equally scary. ’Cause these are my good pair of pants. And I need them dry. But it makes me feel the wrong kind of rain.
I can’t help but wonder, what shitstorm’s do we get to choose? And can we endure one shitstorm if we get some of that summer rain that makes us feel alive?