Rain, Reconnection and Looming Return
I’m still here. In bed. Listening to the rain hit the roof in perfect rhythm. It’s the perfect soundtrack for this last morning—soft, steady, and making me wonder if it’s possible to just stay here forever.
I came out to the woods because I hadn’t been alone in a long time. Not “alone” like hiding in the bathroom while your kids slide notes under the door—but actual, no-one-talking-to-me, nothing-to-do kind of alone. No crisis. No meltdown. Just the quiet need to exist without being responsible for anyone else’s snack, schedule, or emotional well-being.
Neli, the world’s most intuitive dog, has been my ride-or-die these few days. We took long walks, ate good food, painted just for the hell of it. I stared at trees. No major revelations, just some small ones. I noticed things I usually miss because I’m too busy being “productive.”
A couple friends came for the last night. We burned intentions, watched dumb comedy, and laughed until we forgot what was funny. It was the exact right kind of company—low effort, high meaning.
And now… the rain. Like nature’s closing credits. I’m lying here in that weird limbo where you’re not quite ready to get up, but you know you have to.
I miss my wife and the kids, of course. Miss the mess, the noise, the way they make life feel full and feral. But I also don’t want to lose this. This stillness and peace.
So I’m writing this now, in the rain, to remind myself: when I’m back in the chaos, I can still reach for this feeling. Step outside. Close my eyes. Let the wind slap me in the face in a loving, grounding way. It’s not the woods—but it’s something.
XO - Corinne