It’s been raining a lot in Seattle lately. This may seem like an obvious statement, but it actually isn’t, because apparently even to native Seattlelites, these constant downpours are a little much.
But I don’t mind it. To me, the rain is wonderful. I’m here to start a west coast life after all, so why not wash away all those little things about my east coast self that annoyed me? I don’t want to be hard on myself, but there are specific traits that a New Yorker picks up after thirty or so years—impatience, a stifled belief that maybe you are just a little more important than everyone else (you’re not), a fast way of speaking. Of course, not all are bad. I like to think I have a good sense about people—that if someone is walking towards me at night on a quiet street I know whether I should cross the street, avert my eyes, or just keep on walking.
Lately, I’ve noticed that the narrow lines that burrow across my forehead and stretch from the corner of my eyes aren’t as deep as they once were. And while I for some reason can’t give up my east coast sleep schedule, when I do close my eyes I often sleep better than I have in years.
I used to love the song “Rain” by Blind Melon when I was in high school. In it, Shannon Hoon says, “I like watchin’ the puddles gather rain.” I remember my fourteen-year-old self thinking that maybe he was a little crazy. Who wants rain? I wanted sun, to be free, to be outside. But now, I’ll take a rainy day over a sunny day. Downpours give me an excuse to read, lie around, think, write—things I never knew I’d have to make time for when I was a teenager.
In the past few, damp weeks, I’ve realized a lot. Sure, starting on a new path is scary, but maybe you never really start something new. Maybe you just start with a new perspective, a watered down version of what once was.