What is an epiphany, exactly, and when the hell do I get to have one?
Water was sloshing from every surface of my shoes, including the spongy soles of those stupid gel inserts which, until now, had never given me cause to wonder just how many gallons of liquid they were capable of retaining. Diligently running toward home seemed pointless now. The alarming rate at which rainwater was streaming from the hem of my shorts should have been my first clue to abort this mad dash, but I had been clinging to the illusion that I could outrun the storm. Once I dared to look up and take in the current weather conditions of the road ahead, the reality of my defeat began to register.
My route was veiled in billowing sheets of rainwater that were sweeping across the terrain in violent waves of wind. An eerie approach of grumbling thunder rolled boldly along an expansive swath in the sky overhead, and I immediately heard another brisk crackle of electric energy somewhere in the distance behind me. I paused to close my eyes. Yielding the side of my face to a relentless pelting of raindrops, I allowed the full wrath of the storm to confirm the grim reality of my situation. I get it now. Storm wins.
I surrendered with a curt stomp in my stride, welcoming a brief distraction to marvel at the oddness of walking in water-logged shoes. A heavy trudge through the downpour seemed an appropriate choice now that salvaging a remotely dry body part was absurd.
I was pissed.
I imagined my family members to be sitting, napping, or picking their noses somewhere within our comfortable and marvelously dry home. Without the slightest concern for my welfare, it appeared as if no one would be making a rescue attempt. Not a single one of the warm and dry vehicles that were parked in our driveway were being manned for a heroic recovery operation, nor did it seem that anyone would bother to call and inquire about my current location within the storm.
Like my long-distance runs, severe afternoon rain events are common enough that I can usually depend on receiving a brief text from home. Most of the time. This time they forgot about me.
“Fine. So I’ll just call them,” I declared.
Malicious intention would be the driving force behind the hefty dose of guilt that I was fully prepared to deliver. Woe to any unsuspecting loved one who may answer my call. Now if only my phone would have been the least bit cooperative, then a ’someone-get-off-their-ass-and-save-me’ directive might satisfy a burning desire to express my outrage. Apparently cradling a phone underneath the palm of my hand during a powerful rainstorm merely provides the ideal environment for an electronic instrument to go completely haywire. This feeble attempt to shield my only communication device from moisture had failed miserably, and now it was taunting me with senseless voice commands and erratic call options.
My phone had become part of the conspiracy to ignore me.
The need to blame someone for my predicament smoldered as my head filled with contempt for the world at large. It sucks to be soaking wet, chilled to the bone, and trapped underneath an endless waterfall of wind and rain where any progress toward relief seems nonexistent. One pitiful thought evolved into a network of problematic scenarios, until the general perception toward my life experience seethed with unanswered appeals, patterns of hardship, and inevitable adversity.
Clearly it only takes one goddamn rainstorm to incite a Law of Attraction Pity Fest for one irritable witch.
So now I know that.
Were this my one and only epiphany, I could easily end my story here, adding to the never-ending notes that mere mortals gather regarding habitual thought patterns during times of misery. If it only takes 17 seconds of consistent thought to attract more like it, then being stuck in this damn rainstorm became the perfect venue for me to wrack up multiple intervals of emotionally-charged blueprints. This is how it works. Find yourself within a shitty experience, notice the hell out of it, dwell on it some more, inject with appropriate feeling, and ensure the successful creation of many more similar disappointments in the future.
No revelation there.
If any battle-weary witch could comprehend the theory of redirecting her thoughts, she certainly could put a little effort into the practice.
Cold, bitchy, and mad at the world, I squeezed my eyebrows together and stopped abruptly. Be quiet. Stand still. Let the pouring rain fall upon thee. It’s just water. I’m already drenched in it, so what did it matter now? Candid inventory availed a few basic conclusions: I wasn’t exactly in peril, I know that I am not wicked enough to melt, and though massive amounts of rain continued to descend from the sky, the distant thunder rendered me relatively safe from electrocution. All I really needed now was a mood change, and the only person available to provide this would be me.
I considered removing my shoes. The wonder of walking in one-hundred pound footwear seemed more appealing than having to carry them, so I tucked my aquatic phone inside the saturated waistband of my shorts and held my duty-free palms out in front of me. Pellets of rain swept through my fingers in a curious rhythm as I raised my arms out to my sides. Surrendering my sense of touch to the full force of nature’s shower massage, I allowed cool sheets of water to relax my neck and shoulders, while the wind at my back prompted me to move shamelessly forward through the downpour.
This was it. This was my epiphany. This is what it feels like to walk underneath a waterfall. It could be water, or it could be anything. Whatever it is, this is what it feels like to be in the midst of its limitless abundance. It was as if I had no choice but to choose it.
Now every time I find myself entertaining the notion that there isn’t enough of something, I remember that goddamn storm. It turns out that there is no lack of anything but the desire to change one’s perception.
On a side note, turns out that no one in my family actually forgot about me that afternoon either. Apparently, no one even knew that I was out there. Failure to communicate before leaving the house aside, as well as obtaining a noteworthy epiphany because of it, did not, however, prevent me from satisfying latent traces of bitchiness. I managed to briefly mask the recent euphoria that I discovered while walking home through that storm by pounding up the stairs of our front porch in my nine-hundred pound shoes, if only to delight in the act of firmly pushing the doorbell button repeatedly until Durwood appeared in his groggy “I was asleep on the couch” state. Looking simultaneously bewildered and mortified was shamelessly gratifying as I asked him if someone could please bring me a goddamn towel…
This final act of contempt is now a mere remnant of worn-out patterns which no longer serve, only a fleeting and temporary moment of fruitless pleasure that cannot sustain a promising future, nor could such bitchiness ever compare to one’s true epiphany within the storm.