I know I have mentioned it before, but I really don't like rain. It is inconvenient. It is messy. And it severely cramps the style of someone who spends days either shuttling from one client or class to the next or entertaining a toddler who is less and less content to spend an entire day inside the confines of our cozy (read: small) home.
Somewhere along the line, I convinced myself that I had negotiated a pact with Old Man Rain: he minimizes his appearances in the early morning hours, and I try not to begrudge whatever he may have in store for the rest of the day. More often than not, he holds up his end of the bargain, so when I woke up to dry streets yesterday, I laced up my shoes and headed out the door.
There is, of course, an exception that proves every rule. And yesterday was it. A little more than a mile into my run, I felt the first sprinkle, and headed toward home, willing to concede defeat. But as I approached our street, I had a change of heart. It wasn’t raining too hard yet, so I decided to take one more spin around the block. Having survived relatively unscathed, I took another, slightly larger loop, then another even larger. As I ran, I found myself appreciating the cooler temperatures brought by the rain. I took in the surroundings of an unfamiliar, improvised route. Before I knew it, I had run long enough to awaken my body and mind and prepare for the day ahead, and the next time I passed our street, I turned for home, feeling refreshed.
What would it look like for you to accept circumstances rather than trying to fight them? Could you find joy in an unexpected place?
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