Why Does It Always Rain On Me? (by Swifty Flame-Anderson)
Those of you who have read other articles may be aware that a few trips around the sun ago I worked as a postman for the great British institution that is The Royal Mail. At the time, a 7 hour day consisted of at least 3 hours of walking (or often in my case running) in the open air.
British weather being what it is, I often found myself, my clothes, my bag and the mail I was delivering getting rather cold, wet, and pissed off. OK, fair enough, I have no way of knowing whether the mail or the bag or the clothes got pissed off. But I certainly sometimes did. For those not used to outdoor activity, it is sometimes hard to explain how demoralising it can be to be shivering and soaked to the skin after 15 minutes and know that there is another two hours and 45 minutes of the same thing ahead.
While romping about on my information shifing service, I often broke up the monotony by listening to some music on a personal stereo. It was before the time of MP3 players, so we are talking about a rather chunky electrical device that itself had to be protected from the rain.
On one of the cassette tapes which younger readers will be amused to hear I had to insert into this device, was a now very famous song by the group Travis. The title of the song was 'Why Does It Alway Rains On Me?'
Of course, this was a perfect song to tug on the heart strings of a soaking postman, and I used to find myself singing it out loud as I shoved copies of Cosmopolitan and National Geographic through letterboxes far too small to take them.
"Come on, Swifty," I hear you saying. "Enough about your pathetic past. What is it that you are you banging on about this week?"
OK. Don't rush me. An artist cannot be rushed.
The other day I was talking with a friend who has an idea that I often write on certain subjects. She told me that she was feeling a little low that day and asked me what I thought she should do about it.
"Nothing whatsoever," was my almost immediate answer.
"What do you mean, nothing whatsoever?" she responded. "You mean that I should just accept that I am feeling like shit?"
"What is the weather like where you are?" I asked her. She was in another part of the country and we were conversing via the Internet.
"It is raining a little, what about it?" she answered.
"I notice you said 'it is raining a little' and not 'I am raining a little'," I pointed out.
"Yes, of course, I am not the weather," she replied.
"Of course. Are you the emotional weather?" I asked futher.
"What are you on about?" she asked with a note of scorn in her voice.
"There are emotions happening, why do you assume they are happening to or belong to you?"
"Because I can feel them."
"So you cannot feel the rain when you are out in it?"
"Yes I can feel it."
"You get wet?"
"I get wet."
"Does the rain happen to you exclusively? Is the rain aimed at you? Is the Universe singling you out for some rain this day?"
"No, it is just raining."
"OK, do you make attempts to stop the rain? Do you collect it in a bucket and throw it back up into the sky?"
"No, of course not."
"Why do you treat emotional weather differently? Sadness is happening today. What shall you do about it? Is it personally aimed at you? Do you need to fight it? Do you need to get rid of it?"
I do not have any particular answers to these questions, but my many days spent lamenting the rain often remind me not to assume that natural patterns are personal problems.
Next time you notice dark emotions happening, remember that nature tends to move in cycles and that none of it is personal.
Why does it always sadness on me? Ha ha. Dance in the puddles anyone?
Emotional suffering arises only if you assume that the emotional weather is personally aimed at you.
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