YOU GET WHAT YOU NEED

 "You can't always get what you want, but if you try sometimes, you just might find, you get what you need..."  Mick Jagger.

I decided to try to fit my neighborhood walk in before the predicted showers hit this later this morning.  I left at 10:00 a.m.  By 10:10 it was raining.  At first I thought, "Damn! I gotta get  home!"  But then I remembered I am actually not the Wicked Witch of West in danger of melting in the rain, nor did I have her troop of winged monkeys to carry me back up the steep hill I'd just descended.  So, I decided something uncharacteristic of me; I decided I'd carry on.

I'm a fair weather outdoors-woman.  I like to be warm, dry, and comfortable at all times.  I'm more of an indoors-woman during the cold, wet, gray NW fall/winter/spring.   I do not purposely go out in the rain, especially if it's accompanied by wind.  It wasn't windy today, so that likely played into my radical decision to keep to my walking route, even in the rain.

About the time I felt the first sprinkles, I stopped at a bench at the bottom of my hill to gather my thoughts.   I looked out at the slate gray sky merging with the slate gray water and regretted I had not gone on my usual Marina walk.  It's got postcard perfect views. But I decided to stop wishing for something other than what was right in front of me.  

Here, at the bottom of my hill, is the urban, industrial water view.  The working waterfront, the unpretty one, the one that challenges and frustrates. I saw the Navy base, the shipping piers, the big cranes.  And out beyond, the islands and cloud-obscured Olympic Mountain range.  This has a certain beauty too, often harder to see.  I also heard the sea lions barking, even if I couldn't see them.  I knew they'd thrown their big bodies, so unwieldy on land and so sleek and sure in water, up onto a buoy or pier calling out to each other in their distinctive deep-throated "harrh-harrh-harrh".  We were so charmed to hear this sound from our house when we moved here long ago.  It seems so strange and wild.  I heard  the gulls overhead cawing, the Pileated Woodpecker going to town on the nearby wooden utility pole.  I watched robins pecking at the wet soil and noticed three crows keeping watch lined up on an overhead wire.  I closed my eyes and heard the patter of rain against my quilted jacket as it came down more insistently.  I was grateful I'd chosen the winter coat and not the lighter windbreaker I almost grabbed.  

I got up and started walking again, my usual neighborhood route, deciding not to hurry, but to keep a moderate, steady pace no matter the weather.  When I got to the intersection of my street where I would normally turn back home, I kept going up, up, up the gradual incline I'd already been climbing for two blocks.  My hair was wet. My fingers were cold in spite of my gloves.  I don't know why I decided to do another part of the route that I only do occasionally, a few blocks further on to a pocket subdivision near our home with its meandering, cul-de-sac streets lined with well-kept homes and generally not a soul in sight.  

It was quiet today too.  I noticed the rain dripping down my forehead, the wet fabric of my pants against my thighs, a little twinge in my left knee, the way my right foot seems to swell if I walk a long ways, as if the top of my foot rises up to hit the laces inside.  A slight pain shot down my low back to my butt and I reminded myself to do some yoga for sciatica when I got home.  I was aware of my body.  Aware of being wet, but not cold, not miserable -- just persevering.  

When I came out of the subdivision I turned right instead of left leading me to a footbridge over the roadway to access a huge forested park near us.  I went to the bridge, then turned back toward home, but again did not take the most direct route, but a longer one, one that put me two blocks further away and would require a short but steep uphill climb to my street.  All of this seemed like the most logical thing in the world to do.  (Plus my Fitbit registered 4.3 miles and 10,128 steps!)

I realized I was challenging my comfort zone.  I was building resilience muscles in my body.  I have tackled enormous emotional challenges lately, but this felt different and good.   I was learning lessons with my body that I've been trying to learn only in my mind.  

It's not like I was running a marathon or scaling Mt. Everest, but it was practice in allowing for discomfort, for accepting the "is-ness" of the moment, for realizing what we want and what we get are often very different things.  It was a lesson in perseverance and acceptance.  It was a lesson in no matter how much I wanted the sun to shine, what I was going to get was rain.  So, I decided to be in the rain, with all my awareness, and find my life there, alone, making my way.   It's what I need.

At least that's the view from here...©