I have been told before that I laugh a bit like a psychopath, but in an endearing way. For some reason, the compliments I like the most in life are like that one – testaments to that little bit of odd wildness each of us has inside. Things that speak to the understanding that none of us, and certainly not me, are 100% of anything. Compliments that speak to that untamed bit… the bit that bucks against the responsible part. The part that is fascinated by the darker parts of this life. Counter-culture. Counter-expected. Counter-white-picket-fence.
The part that silently screams, You can’t fucking tell me what to do.
I think I love thunderstorms because they speak to that wildness. They blow in untamed, electric and unapologetic. They do whatever the hell they want, and then they go and you are left a little bit in awe by their passing.
Yesterday, I got off the train on my way home from work and knew it was going to storm. I probably should have already known, except I never check the weather in the morning. But when I got off the train it was obvious; a storm was blowing in, and fast. I snapped a photo from the platform and headed to my bus stop.
And then the rain came. Lightly at first, and then harder – big, perfect round droplets. They fell and the wind kicked up, carrying with it the smell of leaves and water. The air cooled. The rain came heavier, in earnest, in gusts and sideways. The hair on my arms stood up, fight or flight, electrified.
Ten of us huddled under an awning, and we waited.
We waited. It stormed.
It stormed and we waited.
For 45 minutes my GPS told me that the bus was 4 minutes away because traffic, as you might know, grinds to a standstill in Chicago during a storm. We got soaked. Some guy used his dry cleaning as an umbrella and another used a pizza box. Neither offered much protection.
And I just laughed. I am sure I sounded like a psychopath, standing there under a leaky awning laughing in the rain while the people around me cowered. But I loved it. I didn’t mind waiting in the rain. Instead, I reveled in the manic energy of the storm, laughing, bright-eyed and grinning.
Watching the people hustle along.
Watching the trees blow furiously.
Feeling my clothes cling to my body, slowly, bit by bit as they became more and more wet.
Feeling the water slowly drench my hair, and then trickle downward.
Feeling alert.
Awake.
Alive.
After 45 minutes I gave up on the bus and decided to walk the mile and a half home. I went to Walgreens and bought an umbrella, although now I’m not sure why – I was already soaked. But it seemed like the right thing to do.
On the way I listened to music and danced in puddles and laughed as the storm swirled around me.
And for a just moment, work and responsibility and relationships and life didn’t exist. For a moment, I was just a girl in a dress and sandals with her green umbrella, dancing in the rain. And honestly, I think that that is what life is fucking all about.
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