The previous evening, I was at the market when the rain began. It wasn’t the sort of rain that is preceded by thunder and dark clouds. Instead, it came quietly, in a rather polite manner, and in a short time, the streets were flooded. People ran towards the closest shelter. A few put newspapers over their heads. Others stood under the awnings of shops, looking impatiently at the sky, waiting for the clouds to make up their minds.
Certainly, the rain was not paying any attention.
A short distance from there, an older woman who was selling vegetables dropped down under her cart and fetched an old umbrella. The material had faded over the years, and one of the ribs was a bit bent, but the umbrella still worked. She then covered her vegetables, smiled at a customer, and went on with weighing the tomatoes as though this evening was just as ordinary as all the others.
She didn’t struggle with it, but rather realised that rain is a part of life and so is change.
While I was walking home, I began to think about whether a great deal of our suffering does not arise from storms themselves but from the expectation that life should remain the same.
We make preparations for celebrations, interviews, and holidays, but almost nobody makes preparations for uncertainty.
We suppose that good health will continue to last. The people we care about will reply to our calls. Our jobs will remain stable. Tomorrow will be similar to today.
We consider it unjust when life quietly alters its plans. Maybe the true lesson is to make preparations before it does.
Nature has never guaranteed that things will last. All trees shed their leaves and all rivers experience periods of abundance and times of drought. The earth is able to survive since it adapts, renews, and releases what is no longer needed. There is a peaceful kind of wisdom in that cycle.
People frequently confuse comfort with certainty, and this misconception is a major source of our suffering.
We construct lives that rely on everything proceeding as anticipated, but when one unexpected phone call, one illness, one plan that fails, or one tough season occurs, we end up questioning why the world seems so unfair.
Perhaps the world is still the same. Perhaps we had forgotten to take an umbrella.
Preparation has nothing to do with anticipating the worst; it consists in showing respect for reality, in acknowledging that change can’t be avoided, and in responding to it with calm readiness.
It’s a good idea to save some money during prosperous times as that is a form of preparation. It’s preparation to acquire new skills before you actually need them. You’re preparing by fostering your relationships before they weaken. Caring for your body before it requires you to do so is also a matter of preparation. I still recall the incident last winter when I finally began cycling again, doing it in just short periods of time. At first it seemed unnecessary, but after I got a bad cold, those simple habits enabled me to recover much more quickly. Taking steps to protect nature before it reaches a stage at which it can no longer heal itself is preparation. Sustainability is based on that same simple principle.
A forest isn’t considered to have been preserved on the day when the last tree has been felled. A river isn’t saved once it has already dried up. A relationship isn’t mended at the moment it breaks. In the same way, a meaningful life is not built or achieved during a crisis.
Something that endures is looked after well long before it starts to disappear.
The old umbrella must have witnessed numerous monsoons. Rather than getting rid of it, a person decided to keep it. Instead of replacing it, that person chose to repair it. The umbrella wasn’t merely used for shielding the vegetables from the rain; it was conveying a lesson which our generation frequently forgets: that resilience doesn’t usually mean having more; it is about making better use of what we already have.
It is possible that there is somewhere in your own life a relationship, a skill, a habit, or even a simple object which has quietly stood up to numerous storms with you. Stop for a moment and notice it. Perhaps now is the time to repair, renew, or appreciate what you have, and by doing so, you can gently prepare yourself for the further difficulties that may come.
When I got home, the rain had stopped.
The sky, which had already started to clear, was reflected in the puddles as if the storm had never taken place.
That’s the way it is.
Each storm eventually passes, and what counts is the way we face it.
The question is not whether it will rain.
The question is whether we spend our days arguing with the clouds or quietly preparing for them before they arrive.