I've always been fascinated by rain. The sound of it hitting the ground, the smell of wet earth, the way it transforms everything. There's something about it that relaxes me, that calms me. But at the same time, it awakens a silent conflict within me.
Because even though I love the rain, I rarely allow myself to get wet.
I always try to find shelter under a roof, an umbrella, to keep my clothes from getting soaked, to avoid being bothered by the water. As if getting wet were a problem and the water would hurt me. As if allowing myself to feel the rain were something I should avoid.
Does this feeling resonate with anything you're familiar with? Perhaps fear of feeling in love? Read the entire paragraph again from the beginning and replace the word "rain" with "love."
The kiss in the rain
I wonder: why do movies sell us that scene of the kiss in the rain as the epitome of romance, of surrender, of passion?
Because, deep down, the rain represents what we find most difficult: letting go of control, letting go and feeling without fear.
When the rain confronts us with what we avoid
Getting caught in the rain is unpredictable. It means losing your perfect hairstyle, not knowing what will happen to your clothes, and feeling cold unexpectedly.
And sometimes, in life, the same thing happens to us. We want to feel, but without getting our hands dirty. We want to love, but without exposing ourselves. We want to live intense experiences, but with guarantees that we won't get hurt.
That's why a kiss in the rain is symbolic.
Because in that moment, we finally stop thinking. There are no filters, no expectations, no strategy. There is only skin, water, racing heartbeats. We forget how we should feel and simply feel.
It's the first time someone hugs you, and instead of thinking about what comes next, you stay in the now, you're in the present. It's the first time you look at each other with such intensity and don't doubt whether you're enough. It's the moment when it doesn't matter if you get wet.
You are just there, in a moment where all of life fits into a second.
Fear of romance: why do we find it so hard to surrender ourselves?
We've been led to believe that romance is corny, that love is dangerous, that feeling too much means exposing ourselves too much. We take refuge in irony, in distance, in "I don't need anyone." And perhaps we say this because, deep down, we're terrified that something can matter so much to us.
What if they break me?
What if I let myself go and then I'm left alone?
What if love is nothing more than a made-up story?
But… what if it isn't?
What if true love only exists when we dare to stop hiding?
Life isn't meant to be viewed from the window
We spend our lives observing everything, in our minds. Analyzing, calculating, avoiding risks. But how many incredible things are we missing out on because we don't dare to let go?
Rain isn't the enemy. The fear of getting wet is.
How many times has that fear held me back? How many opportunities have I let slip by because I didn't want to "get involved"?
Life isn't a movie where we always know the ending. Sometimes you have to walk right through the storm, get soaked to the bone, tremble a little, and realize that nothing's wrong. That everything goes on. That the water dries up, but the feeling of having allowed yourself to live stays with you forever.
Dance the rain, feel it
So, what would happen if we stopped avoiding the rain and started dancing with it?
If we stop worrying about what others will say. If we dare to kiss without thinking about the consequences. If we love without fear of losing ourselves, but also without fear of losing.
Because if there's one thing I've learned, it's this:
The magic isn't in the rain. It's in how you choose to experience it.
So the next time it starts to rain, don't run. Don't seek shelter.
Close your eyes.
Breathe.
Let yourself get wet.
And if you're lucky enough to share that moment with someone, kiss them.
Feel the rain. Feel the kiss.
Feel life.
Because magic isn't in the rain.
It's about how you choose to live it, with or without an umbrella (fear).
Ingrid
