March 1st arrived with a deluge of rain, thunder and lightning, and a surprising appearance of hail. Los Angeles, in the middle of a deep drought, was desperately thirsty for all the water it could guzzle down. It’s just unfortunate that it had to come all at once, in a manner that could conceivably cause the most damage possible, forcing its presence on all of the self-aggrandizing surface-dwellers below.
It’s obvious that the rain certainly didn’t give a damn. It did what it was supposed to do. The rest of us could just simply deal with it.
And that, in many ways, is what my brain feels like – a sudden downpour of disputable observations and questionable feelings, asserting themselves at inopportune times, sticking the rest of me with the problem of organization and cleanup. Being creative and smart and somewhat aware has definite advantages, but the unwieldy current of thoughts that often accompany these traits can sometimes be a tiring job to wade through.
The rain kept pouring outside like it’d never rained before. I started trying to imagine what the city looked like in other places impossible to see from my front-facing window. Cleaner streets. Angry convertible drivers. Puddles 3-feet deep. The month of February washing out with the sea. A grand gesture of change and renewal and moving forward.
But of course, I knew that I hadn’t made any sweeping, grand changes. Saturday morning was not some magical day where I suddenly woke up to a vastly superior version of myself. I did not roll out of bed like a fictional movie star. I didn’t feel significantly different. I had no plans to jump from a plane and scale Mount Everest in a single bound. No, Saturday I got up and started on my taxes. Because everyday life sometimes has crap that needs to get done.
The rest of us mere mortals are not deluges that destructively barge in and wreak havoc on the lives of everything around us. We’re mostly a light sprinkle that slowly, un-assuredly arrives without fanfare; blindly searching for the path that hopefully gets us to where we want to be going.
Which is not to say that I think everything is back to “business as usual”, either. If you had suggested to me a month ago that I’d willingly get on a flying trapeze, I would have died from laughter. Or hell… a burlesque dance class? Me? Ludicrous! But I did, and nothing catastrophic occurred. And because of it, I feel better equipped to try other things that I might have previously declined.
I was already trying to book an aerial silks class before the end of February, but found all the beginner classes had sold out at the studio I had chosen. I’m intrigued enough that I’d like to continue pursuing this further.
Surfing was another that was added to the list after trying the trapeze, but didn’t quite make it due to the season, and a bit of instructor indecision on my part. It used to scare me somewhat; I grew up in one of those landlocked middle states. But honestly, if I, as someone scared of heights, can manage to purposely jump off a platform and swing around upside-down… I feel like I can handle surfing. Or handle at least giving it a try.
Another unexpected outcome? I’m more comfortable wearing… less clothing. I realize that sounds rather unimportant; but being that I’m middle-aged, and by definition can no longer resemble my 20-something, absurdly skinny, former-ballet self; I’ve become increasingly more self-conscious about how I look in tight workout clothing over the years. But I participated in enough sport and dance classes the last week or two, that I started getting comfortable with it. I do not have to be perfect. I am not being judged. No one cares what my ass looks like in yoga pants. Life goes on regardless of my inner insecurities.
That’s right, brain. Keep your damn comments to yourself.
It’s time to stop raining on my parade.