Let It Storm

A storm rolled over Fort Rock State Park in Central Oregon. It left a bright, baby blue sky for about 40 minutes before another storm stopped by to hover for another 40 minutes or so. Google “Fort Rock Oregon” to see what that magnificent tuff ring looks like from above. Sensational.

I've asked my family to please not mention anything about inclement weather unless they are somehow completely certain that it is indeed going to storm. Because if it doesn't so much as pour rain, then a storm of disappointment is created within me. It's kind of like telling a kid, "We might be going to Disney…we just might…we probably are…everyone says we are…" and then, there's no trip to Disney. Makes me and kids feel all kinds of bratty. 

Because the moment I hear, "Be careful! There's gonna be a big storm later on," my adrenaline is ignited. Thunder, lightning, hail, hurricane winds…how bout a blizzard?! Perfect! I'm all for it. If there's a tornado warning, odds are I'm probably out searching for it. But all the while, it's sending inspiration running rampant through my veins, making me want to write, paint, practice the harmonica, redecorate my space, spill the guts of everything in my junk drawer, play with all of its contents, then go turn it into a slightly-more-orderly miscellaneous drawer.

I sleep sounder, write better, and think clearer when it storms. Wind howling, thunder cracking, lightning serving as my electrifying nightlight. I find it so cozy and calming yet exhilarating and invigorating. I like to light candles, turn up the ac to make it cozier— plus, if the power goes, my sheets will be crisp and cool, and I'll be squirming and kicking my feet between them. It's an instant shot of endorphins to my brain, but the time-release kind that lasts however long the storm will. Sometimes it energizes me so much, I really have no choice but to drive around in it.

Of course I hate walking to or from my car in the rain—I'm not that far off my rocker. (No offense if you like to walk in the rain.) I'd just rather not physically get the storm all up on me. I strongly prefer to admire it from behind plate glass. And some occasions just don't call for rain. If I planned to go mini-golfing or people-watching in a park, I'll be cursing the rain for showing up exactly when I didn't want it to. I only want it when it's convenient for me.

So, I'm sorry if any of you who are near me, don't really want rain to fall tonight, or this upcoming Tuesday night, but I'll be hoping for it with all my might for as long as I'm awake. Wind, rain, thunder, lightning, maybe a quick blackout that ONLY lasts as long as I want it to. And if it doesn't come as promised, steer clear, because I'll be anything but a ray of sunshine.

To me, the label, "Severe T-storm Watch" means I should be watching for a thunderstorm, as opposed to watching out for a thunderstorm. Almost like getting an anonymous tip while enjoying the window seat at a cafe, "Any minute now, Joe Pesci is gonna lose his temper, break a wooden bat over his knee and chase a Kardashian up and down the street with it. And you've got a front-row seat!" I'd be sitting there wild-eyed, unable to blink, chewing my straw and anything else within teething reach, waiting for the rare sighting to occur.

I never once interpret the "Watch" in "Severe T-storm Watch" to mean "watch out for." To me, it means, "Watch! The sky is gonna turn black and boom and cry and light up, something spectacular! And you're gonna feel awesome inside!" And a "warning," hell, a warning means that fun is imminent; guaranteed, even, so gear up for fun! It's like ringing the dinner bell and opening your doors for all the stray dogs in town. (I'm the dogs, and the dinner is the weather.)

When you're out in "god's country," which, by the way, I consider to be anywhere I can see for many miles in every direction, it's the coolest thing to be able to observe the perimeter of a storm. Sometimes when there are too many trees, hills, and houses, or when you're any place where the sky seems smaller than your surroundings, a storm can look like it's never-ending. But when there's enough space to really witness the storm, you see that it has an end after all and it's not quite as big and powerful as you thought. Sometimes a little distance and a shift in perspective are all you need to watch the storm fade away.

And for anyone who's in the midst of a seemingly never-ending storm right now, download the app: Waking Up. I don't work for them, and I don't get paid to say this, but this app can help you move mental mountains and navigate the peaks and valleys of your own mind. It's medicine for your most important organ.