I was too busy gabbing with my sister on the phone on the way home from work today that I missed my exit for the gym. So I decided that I would just head home and take Tomo for a walk. There's a route through our neighborhood that's about 2 miles, and I figured if I walked briskly, it would be a good workout. So away we went.
As I was walking I couldn't help but think about my mom's status on FB. She wrote how "unfair" it was that I have to have a "double M" (as she called it). I thought about how my sister told my mom to be positive - that the glass is "half FULL." How she told her that I know how to "dance in the rain."
You wouldn't know from meeting me, but I've danced in the rain quite a bit. More than anyone would think -- more than anyone would guess. We all have - my mom, sister and me. We've made it through some serious storms. And with this next storm, we will continue to dance. There isn't anything "fair" about it, that's for sure -- but I don't think fair really has much to do with it. What truly wouldn't be fair, is someone going through what we've been through, and that person not being strong enough to endure it. That would be unfair ...
In Colorado we have amazing storms in the spring. The clouds are a collection of fluffy white and lightening bearing, thundering rain clouds. As Tomo and I walked through the neighborhood, the sun was on our faces while rain drops chased our heels. I looked back at where we've just come, and found a simple parallel between the storm clouds and this chapter of my life.
What I reminded myself of is that sunshine and rain exist often at the same time. And when they exist together, it's not such a terrible thing. That's what often leads to rainbows. And even when the rain clouds have blocked out the sun completely, and they pour out everything they have for days -- the sun patiently waits in the background -- Always there, not always felt or seen, but always breaking through when the rain clouds give it the slightest opportunity.
Eventually the rain clouds passed, and Tomo and I made it home -- dry and tired from our walk. (As you can see, he was over the 2 miles!) I found a new sense of peace for this experience tonight. It might only last until the morning, or it might last longer -- but what's important is that I've arrived at a place of acceptance, if only for just a moment. Maybe it's that elusive 10% ... maybe not... but for now -- it doesn't really matter so much. The sun will find its way back out again, and I'll still be here to see it.