Friday, September 23, 2011

rainy day

I spend so much time in my introspective mind, trying endlessly to solve existential riddles. I lose myself sometimes in the labyrinth of my psyche and it takes something dramatic to pull me back down to earth. Yesterday afternoon the sky was overcast and it was a beautiful day by desert standards. I piled the pups into the back of the Honda and we took a trip to the dog park. I feel something like joy here in this little stretch of grass, watching the dogs play. As I’m not paying attention the sky darkens and the storm rolls in. Suddenly we’re assaulted by rain drops the size of a dime falling hard and falling fast all around us. The dash to the car is about 50 yards and the pup is too scared to run. I scoop up the 25 lb baby dog and we run for the car as fast as we can. Our attempts are in vain, we make it to the car soaked, and dripping water. I want to get us all home where I know it’ll be safe, but the windows are all fogged and the water falls from the sky faster than the windshield wipers can clear it away. We sit in the car and wait. When we finally have just a little bit of visibility I take the chance and go. Driving slowly we make it one block at a time towards the house. Approaching a corner the car begins to fight. Struggling to stay running, I look out the window and we’ve landed in an infamous Tucson lake. The streets here aren’t designed with rain in mind, so they viciously flood in a real life storm. The water is up to the top of the tires and flowing strong. The car won’t go. I call my dad who’s always there in a crisis. He tells me to power through and make it to higher ground. I do as I’m told, fearful every second that the car is going to die and I’ll end up one of those statistics of the stupid drivers who can’t avoid flooded streets. I throw her in first and give it some gas. By the grace of god she inches forward. We make it to higher ground, catastrophe averted. I thank my dad and head home. The storm is still raging around us, and the dogs shivering in the back seat. We make it home, towel off and life is back to normal, except my perspective. I’m reminded that I am small, and life is big. Life is an interactive journey, which won’t be passively observed, while I waste away in the broken records of my small problems. Live your life this day says to me, live it like there’s no tomorrow.

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