THE SOUND OF POURING RAIN woke me from my slumber, setting a melancholic mood for the day. But rain isn’t only melancholic. On its own, it really isn’t any single feeling. It’s just water falling from the clouds, giving the Tokyo sky a steely-gray, pale-blue aura.

And there’s the sound. A sunny day is calm, in that there is hardly any sound to the weather itself. Sunlight falls through the windows as you open the blinds. The sun kisses your skin as you step outside, its warmth welcoming and hopeful. The rain is different.

As I write these words, the pattering of rain on the asphalt road, the tin roofs, and on the metal barrels and trash crates accompanies the clicking of my fingers on the keyboard, creating a symphony of endless sound a sunny day can’t match.

Melancholy isn’t in the color of the rain or the sounds it creates, but our perception of what it means; so I guess it’s me that’s melancholic.

“Melancholy is not rage or bitterness,” writes author and speaker Alain de Botton in one of my favorite books, The School of Life.

“It is a noble species of sadness that arises when we are properly open to the idea that suffering and disappointment are at the heart of human experience. It is not a disorder that needs to be cured; it is a tender-hearted, calm, dispassionate acknowledgement of how much agony we will inevitably have to travel through.”

It’s okay to feel melancholic. Perhaps the rain serves as a vessel, inspiring the emotion that’s integral to who we are as human beings, and what life comprises.

Life is rarely nothing but sunny days. When we solve one problem, there’s another waiting patiently behind it, smiling deviously for the opportunity to get to know us.

Right now, I’m in a state of serious change, which, while incredibly necessary, isn’t easy. It feels not as if I stand at a crossroads, but at the bow of a ship, gazing into an open sea.

What do I do? What do I want? How do I get there? These questions can be overwhelming, because in a genuine sense I know what I want, and it’s the life of my dreams (no small ask).

But I’m also striving to detach from the outcome, to not only pray for a certain situation, but to be here, where I am, now. It’s pouring rain in Tokyo.

I don’t know when these things I hope for will happen. I don’t know how. But I’m committed to my story, and I won’t be afraid.

My spirit longs to be at ease, flowing confidently in whatever direction the waves take me. My soul asks to surrender, detach, and stay open. So that’s what I’m trying to do.

And while we can always continue striving, things will rarely go exactly as planned. And that’s okay, because when it’s hard, when it’s pouring rain outside and maybe a bit dark within, there are little things to get us through, like a hot cup of coffee on a rainy day in June.

To escape the rain, I dipped inside a convenient store. I ordered a coffee, and its familiar nutty smell cheered me up as it poured from the machine. I took a sip before securing the lid. Another. Ahh. It warmed my hands. I felt a change; I went outside, and the rain became quite beautiful.

It’s another day, and today is a gift, even if it hurts a bit. Be easy. We’re all dealing with the rain, doing our best to stay dry. And if and when we get wet, there are always the little things in life, the simple things, to get us through.