Go Dancing In The Rain

Every time I say I’m from Phoenix, I get gasps and eye rolls and confusion as to why I would live in a place so hot and desolate. I respond in the same way; I will take dry and hot over hot and humid any day. What I don’t say is that living in the desert taught me how to use resources wisely. More specifically, it taught me how precious water is.

Phoenix is hot for about half of the year. From late April to mid-September, it’s about 85-115 degrees out with direct sunlight and no atmospheric moisture. The intensity of the summer is gauged on the number of hospitalized dehydrations and heat strokes. As a kid, you learn that you can’t run the dishwasher the same day you shower or you might run out of water. There’s often instances of drought throughout the state.

And then, it would rain.

When I was a kid, the rain meant that we weren’t gonna die, so Hannah, my little sister, and I would go dancing in the rain. We’d wait about 10 minutes so the dust would be pulled from the air to the ground, and then we’d run out onto the asphalt. And we’d dance. And we’d jump. And we’d twirl. And we’d know that after months of dry, scorching heat, the flowers would bloom again.

The rain used to be a miracle, but when I moved to Georgia, I saw how differently people looked at the rain.

In Savannah, the weather will go from sunshine to flash flooding in a matter of seconds. The rain has ruined shoes, pushed film sets, and destroyed countless Design and Drawing assignments. I saw people running and cursing the rain for coming down at an unknown time which was so bizarre to me. I’d never been in a place where the rain wasn’t valued or celebrated, and people looked at me funny when I was so excited when the thunderstorms started to roll in.

As time went by, I began to slowly lose my love for the rain. Whether it be a student film set that needed three reschedules because of it or simply not being able to get anywhere without walking, I gradually lost my admiration of the rain. In Boston, I saw how different the rain in the Northeast is, and I too began to be frustrated whenever it decided to make its grand appearance and leave me and my coworkers rushing through fields to move AV equipment out. By the time I’d gotten to Atlanta, I’d grown numb to the rain and forgotten everything it’d meant to me such a short time ago.

Until one Sunday morning, when the rain was pouring down after weeks of humidity and heat. I heard the thunder clap and the lightning strike and was suddenly reminded of the girl who would dance on the asphalt in the middle of the street to say hello to an old friend who was passing through town. The flowers were going to bloom again. The air was going to be clear. All of the insecurity and fear I had been feeling was washed away by the raindrops.

So today, I opened up all of my windows and went dancing in the rain. What a wonderful day today has been.

Best,

Lisa Rae Bowman