It’s beautiful outside. It’s beautifully grey. When I see grey, I see colours.
In a land full of sun, I welcome the rain.
I could sleep.
I could read.
I could write.
I could paint.
I could run.
I could race in the rain.
California has been craving rain for so long. The last two days in beautifully picturesque Sausalito have been showered with rain we’ve needed for a couple years. My massive American Bulldog Taylor and I are cooped up; and cannot be happier. I am painting, having just finished three pieces, ready to take on more empty canvases. I am reading (having just finished reading my favourite, “The Art of Racing in the Rain” by Garth Stein, and currently “The Geography of Bliss” by Eric Weiner and just starting “Killing Lincoln” by Bill O’Reilly & Martin Dugard). I am writing. A lot. Reliving my past. Enjoying my present. Contemplating my future. I have Christmas music playing in the background. Thanksgiving is around the corner. Anthony Bourdain talks to me on the TV. He’s living my life; or maybe I am about to live his, but make it my own. I’ve watched India, Iran, Paraguay, Jamaica, and San Francisco. More to come.
“That which we manifest is before us; we are the creators of our own destiny. Be it through intention or ignorance, our successes and our failures have been brought on by none other than ourselves.” ― Garth Stein, The Art of Racing in the Rain
I’ve always had an intimate relationship with the rain. I remember one night in college studying for an exam, that I opted instead to race in the rain. I have very fond memories of my grandparents land in Mallapally, a remote village in Kerala, the south of India. The monsoon season is fuel for a thinking man’s soul. While captive on the land, I live and re-live adventures in my mind. My grey days in Chicago are among my most cherished memories, either appreciating it from my condo with it’s floor-to-ceiling windows that allow me to view its expanse over the city in all its glory or in the middle of it walking along the river on my way home from work. And I love it now, sitting next to my balcony, the rain just an arm length’s reach away from me, the bay almost unrecognizable through the downpour.
All the colours are muted, though the greens of the trees are screaming to pop out. The different tints of blue eek an existence. The vibrant reds, maroons and lavender of my plants boldly stand up to the rain; they welcome it and wear their colours proudly. The rain comes down hard now. It’s soothing, and yet gives me energy.
Today’s one of those days where I will do nothing. Today’s one of those days where I will do everything. All the while, from a casual observer’s perspective, I’m certain it will look the same.
“To live every day as if it had been stolen from death, that is how I would like to live. To feel the joy of life, as Eve felt the joy of life. To separate oneself from the burden, the angst, the anguish that we all encounter every day. To say I am alive, I am wonderful, I am. I am. That is something to aspire to.”
― Garth Stein, The Art of Racing in the Rain
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