Soggy Edges and Soul Sounds: A Rain-Drenched Epiphany

Soggy Edges and Soul Sounds: A Rain-Drenched Epiphany

It was the 10th day of relentless rain, each drop a cold, wet slap against the pavement, the world wrapped in a shroud of gray. It soaked into my bones as I trudged into the pool locker room, my spirit as damp as my clothes, feeling every bit as gray as the sky outside. You know that kind of day, right? When the world feels like it's in a constant state of twilight, and you're just...soggy. Not just on the outside, but deep down in the marrow.

There, amidst the steam and the smell of chlorine, was Laurie. Laurie with her ever-present smile and that damn cane she's been swinging like some kind of undersized sword ever since her hip decided to betray her. "Bright and cheery," she declared with a grin that could outshine the sun, a stark contrast to the gloom that had clung to me like a second skin. "It’s a wonderful day and I'm going to accomplish a lot of good things."

I stood there, dripping and cynical, wondering how in the hell she managed it. How do you find light when the world insists on being so relentlessly, monotonously gray?

So, I tried it—I stepped back into the rain. Not just walked, but genuinely tried to let myself enjoy the damn deluge. The kind of walk where you let go, feeling every drop, letting the rhythm of the rain beat against your skin, trying to wash away the smudge of days spent indoors. It wasn't just water; it was liberation, a baptism of sorts from the mundane.

Later, soaked to my very soul and no longer caring, I blasted Motown in the car because why the hell not? There’s something about that music, isn't there? It seeps into you, a warm, vibrant contrast to the chill, as if the very essence of life is hidden in those beats, waiting to remind you that there’s a world out there pulsing with vitality, with struggle, with triumph.

That's the thing—I needed that reminder. We all do, sometimes. This world, it pounds at us, chips away with its incessant demands, its catastrophes, its endless parade of expectations. But then there's a voice, a note, a smile in the locker room...something small and infinitely precious that whispers, "Hey, it's not all bad. Remember to breathe."

We're all a mess, aren’t we? On our own journeys, fighting our demons, nursing our wounds, wading through our own personal storms. Sometimes, it's hard to see past the rain, past the pain and the thousand tiny ways the world says "You can't."

But then you remember to breathe. In. Out. Deep, soul-cleansing breaths that taste like freedom. And you realize, shit, it’s okay to feel. To be sodden, to be broken, to stare into the abyss and acknowledge it staring right back. Because that’s life—raw, unfiltered, a raging torrent that can drown you or cleanse you, depending on how you meet it.

So, on days like that, when the gray feels too heavy, remember to look for those reminders, those small, defiant acts of joy. Like Laurie with her cane, like Motown on a rain-drenched day, like the simple act of walking in the rain and allowing yourself to just...be. In that moment, not striving, not hiding, just existing in a world that can’t break you unless you let it.

Maybe it’s cliché to say "This, too, shall pass," but like all clichés, it carries a grain of truth. Everything changes—the rain stops, the clouds part, the sun shines again. What matters is what we do in that in-between, how we live in the soldered moments of now, soaked to the bone but still dancing.

Because in the end, all we have is this moment. This heartbeat. This breath. And maybe, just maybe, that’s enough. To be alive, to feel it all—the pain, the joy, the sublime madness of existence—without flinching away. To stand in the storm and say, "I am here. I am still standing."

So, if today sucks, if you're feeling every bit as soggy around the edges as I was, just try to remember to find that piece of now worth holding onto. And maybe, find a way to dance in the rain, to move with the rhythm of life in all its messy, beautiful chaos.

Because right now, this moment, it's all we've got. And, damn it, that's something.