Waiting for the Storm to Pass...

I’m fairly certain almost everyone reading this post has heard this quote at least once:

"Life isn't about waiting for the storm to pass, it's about learning to dance in the rain." – Vivan Greene

You’ll often find it printed on farmhouse-style canvases in big-box craft stores, right up there with “Live, Laugh, Love.”

For a long time, this quote grated on my nerves. It reeked of toxic positivity. It felt like a judgment of those who have no choice but to take shelter and wait for the hardest periods in their lives to pass. It reminded me of an ex who once screamed at me, as I was packing to leave:

“Why can’t you just CHOOSE to be happy?!”

But in recent years—and with a transformation in how I live—I’ve come to see that quote differently.

Rethinking Rain

On one level, I took it quite literally and decided to rethink my relationship with actual rain.

I hated going out in it. I hated feeling cold, wet, and miserable. Everything looked grey and lifeless. Until I had sinus reconstruction surgery, I couldn’t even smell the petrichor anymore. Where was the joy I used to feel, running barefoot in summer rain as a child?

So I decided to turn rain into a joyful occasion. I bought myself a beautiful raincoat in one of my favorite colors. I found a pair of floral rainboots. I treated myself to an umbrella covered with songbirds that practically screams “Nature Guide.” I revived a childhood habit: on warm rainy days, I walk barefoot, just so I can enjoy slipping into warm, dry shoes afterward.

Belgium is a rainy country. If there’s one thing I can count on, it’s that it’s going to rain—if not today, then soon. At least now, when I see the actual rain clouds gathering, I can act to feel colorful, warm, and protected.

Learning From Life’s Storms

One thing I’ve come to understand about myself is that I hate being forced to choose between two oversimplified options. Reduce anything to either/or, and I’ll immediately start pushing back.

I’ve probably examined this quote in far too much detail, but here’s where I’ve landed:

Like the rain, life brings storms. And like the Belgian weather, my life hasn’t been overflowing with sunshine and rainbows. I know that figurative rain will fall, sooner or later. For example, I’ve struggled with seasonal affective disorder for most of my adult life. When summer ends and the days shorten, I can sense the clouds rolling in. I know I’m in for a few tough months.

But here’s the thing: I’m neither passively waiting for the challenges to pass nor forcing a false smile and ignoring the discomfort. Instead, I’ve found that the most useful response—for both literal and metaphorical rain—is curiosity.

I’ve noticed I can’t experience negative emotions and be curious at the same time.

So I face the raincloud, the oncoming depression, the anxiety spike—and I ask questions:

Why is this happening? Why now? What is this storm trying to tell me?

The Gifts of Rain

Literal rain cools the heat, ends droughts, nourishes the soil, supports the plants and trees, and fills the marshes where my beloved frogs live. I might be wet and cranky, but my little amphibian friends are thriving again.

Figurative rain is just as useful. I’ve come to understand that my anxiety and depressive episodes are signals—my body and mind waving flags that I’ve missed earlier signs of a problem. They’re not the threat; they’re the warning system.

I used to bulldoze through my depression with a fake smile, thinking that was dancing in the rain. Now, I feel it coming and greet it with the same weary acceptance as I do sleepiness at the end of the day. My body and mind weren’t designed to run at 100% capacity year-round.

I now know that between mid-October and mid-March, I need to be extra cautious. It’s not the time to start big new projects. If possible, I pare back my commitments and focus more on rest than productivity. My ancestors didn’t have electric lights, central heating, or constant connectivity—they followed the seasons. Winter was a time for rest, for crafting by the fire, for stories and quiet.

Choosing How to Respond

So when the rain comes, I don’t wait for it to pass, and I don’t force myself out to dance in it. I watch it from my window while sipping tea. Then I decide: will I curl up with a book, or will I grab my umbrella and go looking for snails?

This feels far more true to who I am.

Life gets hard. That much is guaranteed. Storms will come. Rain will fall. But life is neither about waiting for the storm to pass, nor about forcing yourself to dance in the downpour. It’s about learning to love the rain—to listen to what it’s telling you—and choosing, with compassion, whether to walk through it or rest while it flows past.