I am in the shoes of a person who is starting to understand rain.
At first, rain was just weather.
Something to avoid.
Something that ruins new shoes.
I once said:
“New shoes don’t like to walk under rain.”
And it felt true.
New shoes want to stay clean.
Untouched.
Certain about where they step.
Then I said:
“Old shoes love rain.”
I didn’t fully know what I meant.
Now I am starting to see it.
Rain is not water.
Rain is the uncomfortable conversation I delay.
Rain is the apology I rehearse but don’t make.
Rain is not knowing how something will end.
Rain is being seen without preparation.
Rain is losing control of the outcome.
Rain is discomfort mixed with uncertainty.
New shoes avoid it because they are protecting their shape.
Their image.
Their idea of how things should go.
Old shoes love rain because they have already been reshaped.
They know water does not destroy them.
It changes them.
I am starting to understand that most of my planning is umbrella building.
Most of my overthinking is checking the weather forecast.
Most of my hesitation is protecting the leather.
But shoes are not made to stay in the box.
They are made to walk.
Rain does not mean something is wrong.
Rain means something is real.
And maybe the point was never to stay dry.
Maybe the point was to become the kind of shoes that don’t panic when the sky changes.
I am not there yet.
But I think I am finally starting to like the idea of the rain.