Walking in Soggy Shoes

Looked out the window recently during one of the sudden, summer-like downpours we’ve had. I love my third-story perch and the perspective it gives me — a wide-angle view of the world sprawling before me instead of that narrow, coming-at-me sensation I can get from life when I’m out there in it.

Walking toward the corner grocery store were two people, a man and a woman, single-file, each with an umbrella, both drenched despite the umbrellas. I’ve been in their soggy shoes before. But it’s getting harder to be surprised by life.

The storm that rolled in late this afternoon did not surprise me. Before bed last night, I checked the hour-by-hour weather for my zip code for the next 18 hours. Sometimes I check my zip code and somebody else’s, too. Then I can plan my life accordingly. I can wear shoes that have seen better days, cancel a lunch date if I don’t want to be on the freeway in a gully-washer, move the plants on my balcony closer to the rail so they can drink in as much rain as possible.

I suppose that’s better than getting caught. But it gives me the false illusion that I can control how life comes at me. I start to believe that even if I can’t control whether it rains, I can be prepared. I can minimize the inconvenience and plan my way into predictability. And that’s a comforting notion that can coax the spontaneity out of me.

To fully, joyfully live this life, can I at least try to welcome whatever it brings without feeling the need for an hour-by-hour prediction? How would it change my experience of life if I could sometimes walk home in soggy shoes?

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