rain stuff.

I am sitting at a bar looking out the window at the rain drops screaming from the sky, splattering the ground, while others trickle down the glass slowly in front of me, as if with ease and care. Those falling from the sky seem like they can't get to the ground fast enough, while drops on the window seem to have no agenda at all.

There's been a dialogue about my life lately and the decisions I am making, as well as those I am not. There are phases of my life where decisions embody the chaos of the falling rain. I can be impulsive, itching to go as if the ground beneath my feet will disappear if I remain standing there one second more. There's beauty in this; The rain droplets pouring out of the sky end up falling on the water that's accumulated, and it's a dance-filled sight. I am a believer of life as a dance filled sight.

And then there are those other times, those slower paces. The drops that aren't slowly sliding down the pane have come to a complete halt. The lesson to me is the value that's there, in the stillness. The dialogue that's been present in my life as of late revolves around this end of the extremes, and the drops that have stopped falling. Those drops equate failure, some say. They're equivalent to anxiety and timidity. And this is a tempting notion to believe if you see the world in a black and white fundamentalist sort of way. This is not the lens through which I view the world, and from my current seat, the drops in a fixed position on the pane-less window in front of me are creating a one of a kind spectrum that resembles clear stars in a clear sky. And it's these seasons, the ones lived at a slower pace, where things become, appropriately, exceptionally clear. This opens the world to a much more honest canvas, where decisions can be made with intention, and less haste.

Last evening the music was on and the windows were open, letting the red curtains blow in the breeze. Our apartment had a wonderful feel; life was present, as well as thought and conversation. My roommate needed to shift things, though, as she needed to study for a test the following day. "Mind if I turn off the music?," she asked. "Of course not," I responded. And then the mood shifted. I began to put things in their place. My shoes made their way to my closet, where they go but haven't been for some time. I painted my nails orange, something I have been meaning to do for a string of days. I read.

After studying, she apologized for cutting off the music so suddenly, as if there was something to apologize for. This was funny to me, and also kind. "I should have eased us into silence, instead of switching from one extreme to another," she said. I told her she didn't need to feel anything but good about cutting the sound. I put some things away, and got other things straitened out. I also like the silence as much as the noise. Stillness is as good of a thing as movement. Both have their place. This is the lesson gaining clarity.