Okay. Not really. My walk in the rain lacked singing. And light poles. But I love a good Gene Kelly reference.
The air outside was heavy with the stickiness of rain to come. The sky had threatened to open up all day, dark clouds hovering over the city menacingly. But we had yet to see a drop. My husband and I needed groceries, and since our grocery store is only a twenty-minute walk away, we usual travel by foot. About halfway there tiny drops began tapping our heads.
Instead of flagging a cab or running for the nearest train stop, we kept walking, even finding ourselves giggling as the drops became more ferocious. We ended up going into a store, not wanting to become chaffed by our wet jeans. Eventually we continued our journey, allowing ourselves to enjoy the silliness of the adventure.
One year ago, a walk in the rain would have made me roll my eyes, my practical side convincing me that I would struggle to get home because of dampness. Or that it was too cliché to enjoy such an act. Or that I was too old to play in puddles.
Oh how times have changed.
I battled with thinking of this as a risk. With nearly a year of risking behind me, a walk in the rain seems mild, a speck of detail that isn’t worth mentioning. But it is worth mentioning, because it’s these tiny moments of rebellion against the norm that make up a year lived on the edge. Looking up at the milky gray sky and smiling…that is the stuff of change.