When I was little, my mom would yell for my sister and I to run outside and watch the sky.
Watch the way it changes, the way it moves, watch what it is about to bring.
There was a stillness, right before it hit
A beauty right before the destruction.
And we would stand and watch, as if we were the storm, and it was just watching.
To be honest, my sister and I always thought my mom was crazy.
Why stand on the tallest hill in town watching the sky?
Getting so close we could kiss the wind.
Why stand on the tallest hill in town, just to feel the heat on our skin?
When I was little, my mom would take my sister and I to a forest preserve, but we would never stay on the path.
Right in the middle of winter, always straying off from the gravel rode.
She had read that Robert Frost poem a bit too many times.
But we always made it right back to the path, with cold noses and breath in the air.
We made it back with a little more adventure.
One night, when my sister and I were young, we turned our living room into a giant fort. Tent and all.
Blankets and pillows and cushions from the couch created our castle.
We sat in there, enticed by the stories my mom was expressing as the light flashed across her face.
It was raining outside, and so she did what she does best.
Took us right into it.
Our little legs followed as we ran through the field, lollipop in one hand, thunder in the other.
Talk about dancing in the rain. We danced the night away.
The little pitter patter of our excitement as we felt the grass squeeze between our toes with each step
You may ask what kind of mother has her daughters watch a tornado.
You may ask what kind of mother drenches her daughters in the middle of the night to get closer to the rain
My mom taught me about what it means to go after the things that make you feel strong and goofy and a little bit crazy.
Life is not waiting for the storm. Life is being the storm.
Life is an adventure, she taught us.
So go out, don’t run from the rain, live in it.