Travels in the rain
The morning skies over Tokyo were clear when I boarded the train. But by the time I stepped out, they had turned grey.
The rain began softly. I hesitated. I had no umbrella, and the path ahead to Meiji Shrine held no cover. Perhaps I should turn back and stay dry? If I got wet it would ruin my plans for the day. But I didn’t know when I’d be back this way again – so I stepped into it.
By the time I passed beneath the wooden gate, it was pouring. Water blurred my vision, turning the world into a dream. I reached the main hall, clapped twice, pressed my palms together and gave thanks. Thanks for being there, far from home, soaked in the rain.
For the first twenty-something years of my life, travel was a distant luxury I couldn’t afford. I grew up in Singapore, my world mapped within familiar streets and repetitive routes. I longed to see more.
When I finally began to travel, I treated each trip like a precious jewel. I scripted every hour and every step, no room for weather or whimsy. I thought certainty was the way to keep disappointment at bay.
But plans dissolve. Trains run late. Storms arrive uninvited. Buddhist nun Pema Chödrön calls this “groundlessness” – the basic fact that nothing is solid or guaranteed beneath our feet. I learned to listen to the shifting roads and hold my itinerary loosely.
On a Japanese mountainside, an elderly man pressed a warm cup of tea into my hands, while the rain drummed on the roof. In the forests of Thailand, an unexpected road trip to a temple, where a monk’s relic lay, half bone and half crystal. In the English countryside, where I spent a sleepless night in an eerie room, as portraits of the dead gazed at me beside a view to the cemetery.
These moments were never on the schedule.
I’d be lying if I said I don’t want more control. I still prefer the certainty of surprises I already like. But groundlessness has taught me there’s no escaping uncertainty. I’m still learning to walk in the rain.
That morning in Tokyo, I left the shrine and went for breakfast, my clothes clinging to me, my hair a mess, my socks squishing in my shoes. The waitress gave me a curious smile. I grinned back. Outside, the rain kept falling.