Singin' in the Rain (Or At Least Tryin')
I grew up in the northeast United States. More specifically, I hail from Buffalo NY, a part of the world renown for its inclement weather. During my formative years I spent more than my fair share of time dodging raindrops and shoveling snow, not to mention simply staring off (sadly) at one cloudy, dreary day after another. To say that I never found much inspiration from the rain and snow is probably an understatement. In fact, this is probably more accurate:
I hated them.
I sure do love my sunshine, though. I have moved to ever-sunnier places over the years, from Georgia to Southern California, and now to Hawaii. But having seen and experienced the lush green paradise of these islands, with waterfalls to boot, caused me to rethink my stance on rain and what I perceive as foul weather. I mean, anything that could create such beauty can't be all that bad, right? And then consider that it is always warm here, regardless of any precipitation falling. Rain, you say? Bring it on!
Which caused me to take note of my attitudes during a recent spell of unseasonably wet weather in Honolulu. I realize that so many parts of the country (and the world) experience much harsher conditions on a regular basis than we do on these islands. But heavy rain, lightning, and waterspouts in Honolulu? And in May? It was a strange couple of weeks here to say the least.
I started out only looking at the positives of the wet, humid, cloudy days we were experiencing. I reasoned that the rain is good for everything--the plants, human beings, everything--and that this being Hawaii, it wouldn't last for too long anyway. It never does. But when the rain and overcast continued into the second week, well...I would be lying if I said I kept my positive attitude about these uncontrollable conditions. To quote one of my late grandmother's favorite sayings, I felt like the weather. And so did everyone else, or at least that is what they were sharing.
Eventually, the skies did clear. The sun returned after a nearly two-week stretch of clouds, wetness and unusual phenomena (what we call "weather" here in the aloha state). Afterwards, everything seemed so fresh. The hills and lawns were noticably greener. People had resumed their outdoor activities in earnest, and were out in droves everywhere you looked. Whether at the beach, walking their dogs, or just taking it all in, it was clear the crowds had emerged as if they were trapped for months in an arctic log cabin during the dead of winter. Looking for inspiration? Just head outside and let Mother Nature show you the way.
Would it have been possible to find inspiration in those rainy, dark days? Of course it would. I could have rode my bike through the puddles on the streets and sidewalks with reckless abandon, frolicking happily like a toddler running through a lawn sprinkler on a hot summer day. I could have watched the awe-inspiring lightning with wonder instead of aggravation. And I certainly could have been grateful that it was only rain and not something far more serious (or even deadly) as so many parts of our country have been experiencing this spring. As always, gratitude is a cornerstone of the search for a proper perspective.
Here's the thing about inspiration. I have come to believe that it is always there for the taking. Always. When I feel most lost, it is typically because I don't see what is right there in front of me. I'm too busy trying to see what I want to see, lost in my own sea of expectations and judgements. I must be willing to call myself out (as gently as I am able to) and step out of my (dis)comfort zone. That is often where inspiration lives: in the places I refuse to look or for one reason or another, cannot see. I am constantly amused when, in the middle of a meltdown, I take a deep breath and marvel at just how much better I feel. And lighter. Even if only for a few seconds, remembering to breathe each day can make me feel like someone has thrown me a life jacket after my boat capsized in the middle of the raging ocean.
Inspiration is always there in the small things, in the fine details of life. It can even be present in the most mundane of tasks. I have heard it said that true enlightenment is "being conscious while you wash the dishes." Do any of us know what it means to consciously do our dishes? Probably not (at least I never have). Our minds wander so much, so frequently, that it almost sounds ridiculous to consider.
We engage in so many conversations each day, with so many people. But are we really listening to the dialogue? If we want inspiration, then we must be willing to inspire as well. There is really no need to do anything, be anything, or say anything in order to create inspiration. All we have to do is connect with our surroundings. It's more a matter of simply paying attention, letting go, and showing up for life in each moment. Engaging fully with our hearts and minds together. Even on rainy days. Or cloudy days. Or days when nothing seems to go our way.
No need to fret. Just claim the moment and watch what happens. It really is that easy, even when it doesn't seem like it. I guess this is yet another great example of doing more with less, which seems to be a common thread running through so much of life. In my eyes, building empires just doesn't bring happiness the way that tearing them down seems to.
This all reminds me of a saying I first heard as a young boy. I always liked it and still think of it from time to time, even to this day. We have probably all heard this one before.
It's the KISS approach to life: Keep It Simple, Stupid. It's just not very smart to do anything else. The longer I live, the more I know this to be true.
Do less to get more? I'm in. Now that sounds inspiring.
I hated them.
I sure do love my sunshine, though. I have moved to ever-sunnier places over the years, from Georgia to Southern California, and now to Hawaii. But having seen and experienced the lush green paradise of these islands, with waterfalls to boot, caused me to rethink my stance on rain and what I perceive as foul weather. I mean, anything that could create such beauty can't be all that bad, right? And then consider that it is always warm here, regardless of any precipitation falling. Rain, you say? Bring it on!
Which caused me to take note of my attitudes during a recent spell of unseasonably wet weather in Honolulu. I realize that so many parts of the country (and the world) experience much harsher conditions on a regular basis than we do on these islands. But heavy rain, lightning, and waterspouts in Honolulu? And in May? It was a strange couple of weeks here to say the least.
I started out only looking at the positives of the wet, humid, cloudy days we were experiencing. I reasoned that the rain is good for everything--the plants, human beings, everything--and that this being Hawaii, it wouldn't last for too long anyway. It never does. But when the rain and overcast continued into the second week, well...I would be lying if I said I kept my positive attitude about these uncontrollable conditions. To quote one of my late grandmother's favorite sayings, I felt like the weather. And so did everyone else, or at least that is what they were sharing.
Eventually, the skies did clear. The sun returned after a nearly two-week stretch of clouds, wetness and unusual phenomena (what we call "weather" here in the aloha state). Afterwards, everything seemed so fresh. The hills and lawns were noticably greener. People had resumed their outdoor activities in earnest, and were out in droves everywhere you looked. Whether at the beach, walking their dogs, or just taking it all in, it was clear the crowds had emerged as if they were trapped for months in an arctic log cabin during the dead of winter. Looking for inspiration? Just head outside and let Mother Nature show you the way.
Would it have been possible to find inspiration in those rainy, dark days? Of course it would. I could have rode my bike through the puddles on the streets and sidewalks with reckless abandon, frolicking happily like a toddler running through a lawn sprinkler on a hot summer day. I could have watched the awe-inspiring lightning with wonder instead of aggravation. And I certainly could have been grateful that it was only rain and not something far more serious (or even deadly) as so many parts of our country have been experiencing this spring. As always, gratitude is a cornerstone of the search for a proper perspective.
Here's the thing about inspiration. I have come to believe that it is always there for the taking. Always. When I feel most lost, it is typically because I don't see what is right there in front of me. I'm too busy trying to see what I want to see, lost in my own sea of expectations and judgements. I must be willing to call myself out (as gently as I am able to) and step out of my (dis)comfort zone. That is often where inspiration lives: in the places I refuse to look or for one reason or another, cannot see. I am constantly amused when, in the middle of a meltdown, I take a deep breath and marvel at just how much better I feel. And lighter. Even if only for a few seconds, remembering to breathe each day can make me feel like someone has thrown me a life jacket after my boat capsized in the middle of the raging ocean.
Inspiration is always there in the small things, in the fine details of life. It can even be present in the most mundane of tasks. I have heard it said that true enlightenment is "being conscious while you wash the dishes." Do any of us know what it means to consciously do our dishes? Probably not (at least I never have). Our minds wander so much, so frequently, that it almost sounds ridiculous to consider.
We engage in so many conversations each day, with so many people. But are we really listening to the dialogue? If we want inspiration, then we must be willing to inspire as well. There is really no need to do anything, be anything, or say anything in order to create inspiration. All we have to do is connect with our surroundings. It's more a matter of simply paying attention, letting go, and showing up for life in each moment. Engaging fully with our hearts and minds together. Even on rainy days. Or cloudy days. Or days when nothing seems to go our way.
No need to fret. Just claim the moment and watch what happens. It really is that easy, even when it doesn't seem like it. I guess this is yet another great example of doing more with less, which seems to be a common thread running through so much of life. In my eyes, building empires just doesn't bring happiness the way that tearing them down seems to.
This all reminds me of a saying I first heard as a young boy. I always liked it and still think of it from time to time, even to this day. We have probably all heard this one before.
It's the KISS approach to life: Keep It Simple, Stupid. It's just not very smart to do anything else. The longer I live, the more I know this to be true.
Do less to get more? I'm in. Now that sounds inspiring.
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