reading the rain

My eyes close in pleasure as I bite into a salmon lox bagel outside of Signature Bagel in Escondido. Swallow, sip of coffee, sigh. My eyes wanter to the line of cars parked at the curb. I note the cars that come and go. Which drivers match their vehicles. Which restaurant they will choose. Which item they will order. So many wear suits and dress shoes. Cell phones and keys in soft hands. Manicured finger nails. Combed, pinned back, washed hair. Busy. Financially well-off.

I wonder about what makes them tick.

Two well-dressed men step out of their Mercedes into the cloudy weather. They carry yellow pads of paper and an air of arrogance. I want to walk up to the older one and ask him, to his red face, “What gives your life meaning?”

A frightening variety of scenarios could follow. But I decide that I did not feel like making a grown man cry today. Or make a man question his current position in life. Or man a human wonder about why he is here. Here.

I re-open my book. The Fountainhead by Ayn Rand. It has become my obsession. I read this book like I would eat a feast after fasting for an age. My mind is hungry. My spirit is being fed.

I read under an umbrella intended to block sun, not rain. And as the rain hits my back, I am thankful for my Mammut rain jacket. The pages curl due to moisture in the air, but is not hit directly by the drops. I read on.

How is it that we, as humans, allow ourselves to wander from who we truly are, originally? I see the personality of 6th graders at Camp, and they are full of wonder, full of questions, full of imagination. Well--most of them. I have seen the deterioration of wonder in some students. It is sad; it is like watching a flower plucking it’s own petals and tossing them to the ground. Children need to imagine and to be free to think of their dreams as a possibility.

When do we lose this ability?

I assume that it is different for each person. I assume that there are events that cause us to try to become more “adult” and less of a child. But, why must we lose wonder? And why must we start to give up our individual identities before we have even let them form completely?

Why do we struggle so vigorously with self-respect?

Too many people simply cannot look themselves in the eyes and feel proud of who they are. Or they don’t know who they are, so they are afraid to look deeper to find out; they are afraid they will not love who they are, so they don’t even bother. Why do we do this to ourselves?

I am more than happy with who I am: as a human, as a friend, as a woman. I am content. I am secure. I am proud. And it has taken me years to reach this standing. I’ve fought to come here, to come this far. Yet, I am only twenty-four years old. There are people, as I have said before, more than twice my age who do not know how it is to look and love yourself for who you are. I don’t feel guilty; I feel honored, privileged.

The Human Condition. We must fight self-hate, self-loathing each day. We must realize our potential and then jump for it. Go for it. Run for it. Become it.

It is raining steadily outside my house in Ramona. I drink homemade Thai tea and listen to water falling around the walls and windows. Each drop of water has a single dust particle to which the water molecules have desperately attached themselves. As the drops fall, I can’t help but think about how We typically view rain as pure, cleansing, and renewing. Yet, each raindrop contains a fragment of dirt.

No one should see that particle as a fault. There would be no rain if there was no dust. Instead, we should allow ourselves to be whole, and to fall, and to be as we were intended to be: a life-giving rainstorm that knows what it is and fulfills its purpose without a series of painful, doubt-laden questions.

I say, be who you are and be joyful in it!