The Last Summer Thunderstorms

Watching the storms pass through

Growing up in Los Angeles, I rarely experienced thunderstorms. The LA weather is mostly dry and when it does rain, the rain is not typically accompanied by thunder. Maybe in exchange for earthquakes, the weather gods retained thunder and lightning. 

College in the northeast was the first time I understood the cyclical nature of summer thunderstorms. Humid, growing more oppressive each day, until finally the humidity breaks with a thunderstorm. And the cycle repeats itself - humid, humid, humid, storm, dry and sunny, humid, humid, humid, storm. Typically in the afternoon and rarely lasting more than a few hours, it is possible to visibly watch the storm come through. First, the wind. The trees begin to shiver, leaves circling through the air as if fall arrived early. Then, the dark cloud. I watch as it approaches from a distance, slowly sucking up the light in its path. As the cloud closes in, I see the sheet of rain underneath. The rain doesn’t start as a drizzle. It pours instantly. My first summer in Boston, being from California, I learned to always pack an umbrella, even on a sunny morning. Watching the cloud close in served as a futile warning. 

I learned lightning comes first, the flash before the boom, with the speed of light exceeding the speed of sound. I’d sit at the window watching. I still do. Living in Virginia, in a suburb of DC, the summer storms feel even more pronounced. Lightning causing falling branches, even a downed power line. So frequently checking “outage status” on Dominion Energy’s website, I leave the tab open on my phone’s browser. Our dog Tabor curled on his bed, shaking slightly. He senses the storm and wears his emotions on his sleeve. 

The cycle of these storms - wind, darkness, rain, cloud cover, sun - mirrors emotional cycles within ourselves. We are part of the same system as these storms. The storm above us, but in reality, we are inside it. We are a part of it. We live inside it. Just as our internal storms. Our own weather systems. 

It is easy for me to stare outside watching a summer thunderstorm roll through, yet I often struggle taking that same approach with my internal storms. I’ve learned the skills I need to watch from the sidelines, but sometimes, the internal storm takes over. I question whether it will ever pass. When I will feel at ease. Without a doubt, these internal storms are not all “bad” - they are not all filled with gray clouds and thunder. Sometimes the internal storms are exciting, or loving, or joyous. Always overwhelming, seeming to take over my body, feeling the wave fill every inch. 

There are times in my life when I’ve been better about allowing the storm to pass through. Newly postpartum I felt the waves of emotions and stayed present with them – overwhelming joy, love, fear, frustration. When I ended my last relationship, years ago, I consciously stayed with the emotions, allowing them to pass through, desiring to feel because I had been mostly numb for so long. My past self would bottle up the storm in an opaque container as soon as the wind began, and inevitably, the bottle would overflow, exploding into an uncontrolled crumpled mess. I like to think that I’ve since retired this container, and learned tools to allow the storm as it comes. The storm itself does not make up who we are. We can practice non-attachment and reduce the storm’s power.

But we’ve somehow built a world unfit for strong emotions. A world that hands out containers like youth soccer trophies. One for everyone. 

I so badly want our world to normalize our individual weather systems. To take away the shame of feeling. If we each can allow the storms to be on display, at least for our own children (children in the general, next generation, sense), maybe we can reduce the shame over time. If we can help show others there is no need to be embarrassed to cry, the pressure in our collective container will be released ever so slightly. Collectively speaking, violence, war, and conflict may be the build up of such pressure to the point of explosion. Maybe by creating safe spaces for others to allow their storms, simply watching them pass through without resistance, we can create more peace in our world. As summer transitions into fall, I plan to use the remaining thunderstorms as a reminder to allow my internal storms to pass through without attaching myself too strongly to the storm itself. 

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