:: Wednesday, September 20, 2006 ::

The rain has been falling steadily all day, heralding the onslaught of autumn in Vancouver. Downtown is awash with grumbles, muffled under black umbrellas. I swim through, happy as a trout that has been caught, brought up into the dry heat, and then returned into the cool damp that is home.

Only, unlike the trout, I enjoyed the fresh air and the heat on my skin. But it's that feeling of belonging that returns with the rain each fall. I become prone to staring out windows, to writing damp poetry, to listening to Bob Dylan and Iron & Wine. I wonder if I love the rain because it inspires me to write and express and discover, or if it inspires me because I love it? Is there a difference?

With this welcome return has also come a welcome sense of self. Lately I have felt more inclined to call myself a writer and a photographer, rather than saying I want to be a writer and a photographer, because I am, and because I need to be. Those things feel like home to me just like the rain.

And, as I wade to work each morning and put in my nine to five, I can't help but feel satisfied, despite the whining and complaining and stressing, because I'm doing and earning and producing. I can go home at five and not worry about work again until the next morning. I can spend my evenings indulging and not feel like I should be doing something else. I can start devoting my spare time to the things I want, rather than procrastinating aimlessly.

So, my peace of mind has arrived with the grey clouds and settled. I know I'm okay and that it's all just beginning.

:: Katy 6:18 p.m. [+] :: ::