Watching the Rain

There is something about rain that makes the world feel smaller.

Not smaller in the sense that it has less to offer.
Smaller in the sense that everything unnecessary seems to drift a little farther away.

The errands can wait.
The laundry can wait.
Even the thoughts that have been circling all morning seem less urgent beneath the steady rhythm against the window.

When it rains, everything grows quieter, including me.

And in that quiet, I make tea.

Summer rains are my favorite. Fat, lazy drops thump against the windows, knocking politely as if asking permission.

I watch the drops gather on the glass.

And for a little while, I let the rain do all the talking.

Rain has never seemed impatient to me.

It doesn't worry whether it's accomplishing enough.
It doesn't ask whether it's falling correctly.
It simply becomes exactly what the moment asks of it.

I wonder how often we might soften if we allowed ourselves the same grace.

The Ritual

Prepare your favorite tea.

Rather than sitting at a table, sit beside a window.

Watch the rain for five minutes.

If there is no rain, simply remember the sound of it.

Place one hand around your mug and ask yourself:

What am I trying too hard to carry today?

As you drink, imagine placing one small burden beside you. Let it rest with the tea leaves in the bottom of your cup.

Not forever.

Just for today.

Reflection Prompt

What feels lighter after I stopped trying to hold it so tightly?

Affirmation

I am allowed to soften without falling apart.