“Rain has always fascinated me, it is one of my favorite things in life. As a child I would watch the rain from my bedroom window and imagine the ocean, a storm, a ship, a lighthouse. A story would play out in my mind as the rain hit the window. I would imagine being a raindrop falling into a great river, I would travel to the sea and begin a grand adventure.” – Brittany, from Ramblings at Night: Water
Brittany, a friend whose friendship warms my heart, unhinged a door to my thoughts after writing the above. “One of [her] favorite things in life…” illustrates life itself simply and powerfully. In my mind, a raindrop falling into a great river resembles new birth, and the sea’s grand adventure mirrors our traversing through life. The ocean’s personality may, at times, prove tumultuous, harsh, and uncaring towards travelers (us); at other times, it may prove tranquil and peacefully harbor us in mare pacificum. However capriciously or idyllically life’s current moves us, we ought to scour the horizon for the lighthouse, fix our coordinates, and sail steadfastly.
Growing up, I loved to watch the rain pour outside and rarely failed to escape the house to play with full throttle. I explored the myriad of canals that only come to life when it rains, making leaf-boats to war with the waters ’til they reached the channel’s end. Having grown, when life thrusts me to and fro, I mentally remove myself from the storm and relocate inside the house, beside the window, and watch the storm.
Picturing life in moments, or as a story, reminds me that living is like writing a book that only a few select individuals will read – my family and dearest friends. Each chapter is new, displaying both tribulation and triumph. Characters come, go, and a few remain, but I, I am constant ’til the last period, death. I reflect on the question: “Am I writing a story worth reading?” When storms battered the ship deck and put the mast to the test, did I remember my anchor? The lighthouse? Or did I allow my attention to be diverted and locked on the dissonant churning of the waves?
Will I be able to proclaim:
“Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.”
– Robert Frost, from the Road Not Taken