I came across a thread posted by another user on this forum today, and she also seemed to be having difficulty untangling the question of who she was, and so rather than comment on her post, it seemed quite logical for me to make my own blog post so I could ramble on. In the thread she started, though, one of the responses was by someone who suggested that she start eliminating who/what she wasn't. That approach made a lot of sense to me. I'd never thought of if that way before.
While there are some things that I know that I am, there are quite a bit more things that I know that I am not. Perhaps it can be partially a process of elimination. The thing is that even starting this blog entry has proved to be unsettling for me. I don't like to think about who I am, because I find it very disturbing that I am unable to answer that question in a way that satisfies me. It makes me feel like there is something wrong with me, even though the logical side of me knows that simply cannot be the truth. If there is indeed something wrong with me, it must be for some reason(s) unrelated to whether or not I can define who I am.
The title of this blog entry comes from something that I know. I do know rain. Although I have visited the desert, I didn't grow up there, and rain is something with which I am familiar. It has been a constant throughout my life. I have always found the rain to be incredibly soothing and relaxing and comforting. I've known that, no matter what happens in my life, the rain will always come back. It will always be there again at some point in the future. Even on the brightest and sunniest day, I know it's only a matter of days/weeks before the rain comes again.
Although I don't much like my mother, I do like that she liked the rain. Rainy days were often celebrated when I was growing up. On cool rainy days, we'd put on our rain boots and go out splashing in the puddles. On hot summer rainy days, we'd often skip the boots altogether and go out barefooted in the rain. I can still remember a specific summer rainstorm that happened when I was at my grandma's house when I was a little girl. It rained very heavily that day, and the bottom of her backyard (which was at the bottom of a large hill) couldn't drain fast enough and flooded with about six inches of water. I think the reason I remember this particular rainstorm is because I went out walking through these long puddles at the bottom of her backyard. I was barefooted, and I still remember the warmth of the water and the odd sensation of grass underneath water underneath the soles of my feet. I don't think I'll ever forget that feeling. It was quite strange. Not unpleasant, just unfamiliar and odd.
Since my mother liked the rain so much, when I look back, I have lots of memories of moments spent in the rain. There are a lot of memories of puddles and getting drenched in an intense downpour. I can still remember the way cold rainwater felt on my bare shoulders, and I also have a distinct memory of a tiny stream of water snaking its way down the center of my back as the rain dripped off the end of the braid in my hair.
I think that perhaps the rain's constancy has helped me cope with the things in life that have been unsettling and confusing. I know there are a lot of songs about the rain. Sometimes the songs are sad songs, but I don't think that rain has ever saddened me. I like the sound of it. I like the feel of it. I like watching it fall. One of my favorite memories comes from when I was pregnant with my oldest son. It was not far from my due date, and I was sitting in the passenger side of his dad's car parked on the side of the road in some tiny town somewhere. We had gone out for a drive and a bite to eat and had been caught by surprise by an unexpected summer rain shower. Since we were parked, we didn't have the windshield wipers on, and the rain was coming down really hard. I remember lifting my shirt up and tucking it just under the band of my bra so my very round stomach was visible. My son was kicking pretty fiercely, and I could see my stomach poke out a bit over and over in the spot where he was kicking me. That's not the bit that I loved, though, although that was pretty cool too. The really awesome bit was that, once my stomach was bare, I could see the pattern of the rain falling. The shadow of the pattern of the raindrops was moving and moving across my skin while he kicked. I don't remember ever seeing something like that before. I guess the angle had to be just right or something for the pattern of the raindrops falling on the windshield to cast a shadow across my stomach. I found it mesmerizing. I didn't want to start the car and drive home. I just wanted to sit there on the side of the road watching the pattern of the rain falling play out across my stomach. It was so beautiful.
I guess I went off on a bit of a tangent there. I tend to do that. I think this entry is about finished for now. I notice that I've successfully avoided even attempting to answer the question of who I am, and for that I feel quite proud of myself. I'm not sure I much wanted to answer that question anyway. So there! I shall remain a mystery!
