If It Won't Rain, Create Your Own

Desert Rain

The author, Barbara Kingsolver described the rain in Arizona in her book, Animal Dreams, as a feeling of having a good long cry where the desert is washed clean.  This book is part of what inspired me to move here.  While it is true that it rains very rarely here, when it does, it is like the sky is making up for lost time. 

Tuesday night I headed home from dance class very weary and in a miserable mood.  There was nothing I could really pinpoint that was bothering me.  It was a myriad of things that had all culminated at once.  In the car on the drive home, the flood gates opened.   The dam was full and couldn't hold anymore. 

I arrived at home and Ruben met me at the door.  I dropped my things and buried my face in his shoulder.  One thing that is very apparent to me is how men and women differentiate on the subject of emotions.  Ruben was trying to fix everything.  He offered me a glass of wine.  When I declined he stood frozen in front of me, unsure what to do next.  Sometimes I just need to let it out.  Like rain in the desert, it doesn't happen very often.  Then I am fine. 

I sat on the couch and Ruben sat next to me.  He kept his distance as if this show of female emotion might be contagious.  He lightly rested one hand on mine for a few seconds, and then withdrew.  He picked up a jewelry catalog and began flipping through it.  If I wasn't so upset, I probably would have laughed.  The man doesn't read anything but the newspaper sports pages and ESPN Magazine.  I suppose if I were a man in his situation then I would have sought out a distraction, too.

Wednesday morning dawned and all was fine.  I felt like a huge weight had been taken off my shoulders.  I didn't feel stressed when I went into the office. Since last week I had felt like I was coming down with something and that feeling was gone, too.  I felt like I had been washed clean like the desert Barbara Kingsolver so dearly speaks of.  

Some people eat when they stress-out.  Some work or exercise.  I cry.  I'm not ashamed of that at all.  It's my release. I was taught while growing up that crying was a sign of weakness.  I'm glad that philosophy has not had much bearing on me.  To deny myself of something so crucial to my well-being would have much more severe consequences.  Having an occasional cry is what has made me strong.  That, unto itself, is a gift..