23 June 2011
I REMEMBER A DAY in my former life, when I used to live in Vancouver’s downtown westend. I was shopping on Robson Street — that mecca of consumerist culture — and was on my way home when I felt the first few drops of rain.
Within minutes, the few drops turned into a full-on downpour; I was caught sans umbrella. As I made my way south down Howe Street I ran from awning to awning, pausing under each one to contemplate the next move in my resolve to remain dry.
Up ahead I could see the number of shopfront awnings tapering off until all that was left was flat-fronted buildings with no overhang under which I could continue this game. I could wait it out, I thought to myself. But the endless grey cloud cover — and my lifelong experience of Vancouver weather — told me I could be waiting a long time. A very long time.
Photo: sea turtle
As the awnings grew sparser and the distances in between increased, the rain slowly started to find its way onto me. Still, not one to give up, I zigzagged — not unlike the 80s arcade game, Frogger — from dry spot to dry spot. I wasn’t about to let the rain get the best of me.
But as I became wetter, my resolve to stay dry started washing off. My quickened steps started to slow down. My tense body — trying to pull itself into the smallest package possible to dodge raindrops — eased. Between here and home was nothing but grey sky and a sheet of blinding rain.
The fight left me. It was replaced by a calmness and a sense of liberation that I hadn’t felt before, and have felt few times since. Years before I would begin my spiritual journey — my deep introspection — I had my first real lesson in letting go.
We spend a lot of time, effort, and money fighting the rain. (In fact, at this moment, I am sitting in a cafe with a coffee and dessert square — $5 that I otherwise would not have spent — because I am waiting out a sudden downpour.) We buy big umbrellas and the latest in waterproof technology.
Photo: romy ghaly
Or we duck for cover, hold newspapers and plastic bags over our heads, even try to outrun the rain. Of course, sometimes it’s necessary to stay dry, and under certain circumstances it can even cause illness.
But sometimes we need to get soaked to the bone, to remember that — despite our fighting and our need to control — surrender is the way to a peaceful mind. It allows us to move with the natural flow of life.
By the time I was a few blocks from my warm and dry apartment, I stood alongside a woman holding an umbrella. While we waited for the light to change to cross the street, she looked over at me, my hair plastered to my head, clothes adhered to every inch of my body, dripping wet. “Excuse me,” she said. “Would you like this umbrella? It’s kind of broken and I’m almost home anyway.”
“No thanks,” I replied through the smacking of raindrops hitting the pavement. “I’m actually quite enjoying this.” 
[Feature photo: Carol Browne]
{ 8 comments… read them below or add one }
Nice one, Carlo! I can’t wait to surrender to the rain again this summer on Bali
Love this!! Seattle has taught me to embrace the inevitable frizz and damp socks that comes with constant drizzle and high winds. Umbrellas are useless here (and in Van, I’m sure!). If I have a hood, great. If not, fuck it. A rainy walk can be great!
Good timing on this one, Carlo. We’ve got a full-on tropical storm passing through Korea. Two things come to mind:
“When it’s raining, do you scurry from overhang to overhang, or do you just accept the fact that it’s raining, and walk with dignity?”
“Life isn’t about waiting for the storm to pass, it’s about learning to dance in the rain.”
This resonates with me today as I fight with a deluge of figurative rain. Perhaps if I stop dodging it and instead, just stand in it for awhile, I might find that wash of peace. Thanks for the reminder to surrender.
Nice, Carlo.
For me, this lesson has been most accessible when cycling. Getting caught in a downpour on a bike sounds terrible, right? But the soaking only takes a minute or two. After that, you’re not getting any wetter. As long as it’s not super cold out, your body begins to warm the water trapped in your clothes. So now you’re cruising down the road in a wet suit, splashing through puddles. It’s more fun than a slip-n-slide.
At the same time, there are limits. It was the back-to-back-to-back days of rain in Canada that made me bail early on that tour.
Thanks all. Christina, best of luck to you. Yeah, sometimes I find the method works even with figurative rain
Take care. Be good to yourself.
Really enjoyed reading this. Reminded me of a day last summer when I was out and about doing some geocaching and got caught in a sudden and very unexpected downpour. I ran to a nearby pharmacy to get out of the rain. Once inside, I realized how much more I enjoyed the run in the summer rain than being inside the pharmacy. Right back out I went. It was invigorating!
I’m glad stumbleupon.com suggested this post.
We had a 45 minute hike to the entrance of the cave, a cave that at times we would trudge through water up to our ankles, and at other moments have to swim across to get to another rock. It started raining the moment we stepped out of the van to begin our 45 minute journey. There was something about the fact that we knew we’d be soaked the entire time we were in the cave that let us let go in the pouring rain on the way. Why did we need that? I think letting go in the rain is a fantastic metaphor for letting go of perfection, especially of how we come off in a physical sense. We want to project ourselves in a certain way to the outer world, and rain washes those masks away.