The last night of the first session I ever worked at Camp Roger. I had just graduated from high school the week before, and I was drowning in my fear of endings, my preoccupation with what others thought of me, and my plan to break up with my high-school boyfriend the next day. I stood with a clump of counselors somewhere around midnight, watching the torrential downpour jarred by flashes of light.

“Let’s go run around in it.”

Such a simple yet utterly senseless suggestion. It was impractical, inconvenient, bordering on ludicrous to many adults. Yet I followed them anyway. 

We dashed through the sandy puddles of camp, making angels in the muck on the ground. The rain was intoxicating as I swept my arms and legs through the puddles. Eager to find our next event we stumbled down a hill to find a minor lake gathered at its foot. A college guy next to me turned, grabbed my hand and declared, “Let’s jump in.” How could I not?

Thomas C. Foster outlines in his book How to Read Literature Like a Professor the way that rain is used in literature to symbolize both cleansing and restoration. I’m sure you have sat through some English class where your teacher attempted to get your sleep-deprived teen brain to analyze the presence of rain in the novel you were reading. It’s very likely you hated it. As I swam around in that stagnant puddle, rain streaming down my mud-streaked face, I soaked in the symbolic nature of it all. All my anxieties of what I was leaving behind as I left high school felt like they were washing away. Additionally, I felt that my constant need to fit in was being replaced by the joy of doing exactly what I thought was fun.

In my English-addled brain, I tend to linger on significant storms in my life. They have real symbolic meaning to me. There, I said it. I may very well have made it to the top of your extensive list of “Painfully Metaphorical English Teachers,” and I probably belong there. I think there is a reason we have these associations with rain.

I remember significant storms in my life. They always tend to line up with times of emotional transition.

Just last week I was leading a trip in the wilderness with a bunch of teenagers. We had just finished an extremely draining day of hiking and adjusting them to life in the woods. The wind began to pick up and we tucked them into tents for the night. I put on my raincoat over my oversized chili peppers t-shirt and walked to the edge of Lake Superior to watch the storm. It was the most calming and humbling experience, to feel so tiny on that stretch of sand as the rain tumbled and the waves surged.

My insecurities about my ability to lead the kids faded slightly, and I felt so at peace. Cleansed. And restored. This is not a joke.

Maybe you prefer to stick with the made-up symbolism present at the close of Shawshank Redemption, as the main character stands in the storm. But I think those famous scenes echo the real human experience. 

I hope that you have significant storms in your life. Take notice of them. Step outside into the rain, no matter how stupid it feels. And may they give you the clarity and emphasis that your unique experience deserves.

Susannah Boersma

Susannah currently lives in New Jersey and works as a 7th grade ELA teacher in East Harlem. When she is not teaching or writing, she can be found exploring independent bookstores, going backpacking, and trying to roller-skate on all the cool trails in the city. She is also recently experienced in the art of citrus skunk repellent (I know you’re impressed).