Sunday, 22 July 2012

Sunny with a CHANCE of Rain (Or Why I Shouldn't Worry)

Some days the weatherman should look out the window. That’s what many of us may say to ourselves on the mornings when we hear their chipper voices advise that we might want to bring out an umbrella if we plan to venture forth, only to peer through the curtains and be greeted with a bright, cloudless day. Sometimes it seems they get it wrong more often than right. How many times have we been promised a big snow storm, dreaming of a snow day, and then wake up the next morning to a pitiful dusting of flurries? Or have a perfect beach day, all planned ahead of time, be ruined by a torrential downpour? But I would never blame a meteorologist. You can study data and make predictions for all you’re worth but it never guarantees a perfect forecast. It’s just a fact of life.

 I think many people’s biggest problem, myself included, is that we try too hard to see what’s ahead. We want some assurance that we’ll be prepared for what’s to come.  That’s why we worry and try to plan for the unknown. But it would never do to carry our “umbrellas” with us everywhere we go. Trying to predict what happens next only holds us back and weighs us down. It clouds our vision so to speak. If we are too intent on figuring out the forecast for our own life, we miss the beautiful day that is right in front of us.


  1. emma

    this is so so true. always keep this in mind.


    1. That's why I wrote it. But it's way easier to write about it than actually follow my own advice.

  2. I remember this one time when we were driving to Saint Andrews. Whenver we approached a hill I was always craning my neck to see what lay on the other side. I wondered whether I would see the distant blue line of the sea stretching off in the distance. But for hill after hill I would only look down to see more trees in the valley. The road below continued to wind between the trees, leading to another hill. As we drove though the next valley I continued to look forward, my expectations mounting as we climbed the next hill wondering the same thing, not seeing anything around me; not seeing the trees and the farmland off to the sides. But it wasn't till the top f each hill that I could see what lay past it.
    How many times do we only look forward to the next hill when we know full well that we wont know what lies in front of us until we get there, ignoring all the beauty that surrouds us and not enjoying the moment?

  3. hi emma
    i read this over again and i wish when i was 17 (100 years ago) that i was able to think like you. you think like a very mature
    adult. smart girl.