Rain or Shine - Our Internal Weather

If there is one subject guaranteed to unite humanity, it is the weather. We simply cannot stop discussing it. It doesn't matter whether you're in Paris, Perth, or Pyongyang, "weather chat" is the small talk of choice. The ice-breaker, the introduction. The attempt to bash down the barrier of language, and a chance to stand on some familiar, common ground, where souls that collide in the far-flung corners or our little blue rock, can meet on the level. And what better leveller than the good old weather.

Our general view on the weather, is generally quite dim and usually reflects a bit of dismay voir disappointment, in a 'too hot', 'so windy', 'look at those clouds...' sort of vibe. "is it usually...?" whatever it happens to be. Sometimes we couch it in favour of a certain minority group, like "I bet the farmers are glad of the rain.." which allows our thinly-veiled complaint, a better seat in the arena.

It was not always thus. Way back then, the weather was not reduced in rank to silence-filler status. It was important. For most of human history, it determined what we ate, if we travelled, harvested, stayed warm or indeed survived. It fed us and clothed us. It made us. It occasionally broke us.

Paying attention wasn't optional, it was survival. However many centuries later, we have no idea how fortunate we are to no longer have to walk around with a clip-board to check if the cows are lying down, to know we will have food in December - yet our fascination seems to have deep roots... Vanessa and I chatted around this (I know..) the other day, in our dog-walk office, and concluded that an ancient part of our brain is still weather-watching. Eyes on the horizon. Checking. Perparing. Hoping..

But as usual, I suspected there must be something else going on too. The weather doesn't just infleunce our benign, modern-day plans - it also exposes our expectations. You can transition pretty sharpish into the picnic, min--break, barbecue, wedding or even mowing the lawn and what arrives in our minds? "Every time I organise something fun, it rains."

Of course it doesn't. We simply remember the times it did. The washed out camping weekend, the cancelled cricket, the wedding photographs featuring more umbrellas than the entire portfolio of Christo. The human brain is a truly extraordinary piece of machinery, but it does lean quite a bit into collecting evidence in support of its favourite, fake news. One of those stories seems to be that one of the primary motivators of the Universe, is to delight in ruining our plans. The moment we wash the car, it rains. The moment we volunteer for the village fête, the forecast changes. The moment we finally commit to the horrors of EuroDisney, Paris floods.

Naturally, like almost all of the stories we tell ourselves, none of this is true. The weather is not paying attention to us. The clouds have not gathered in protest at our weekend plans, nor has the rain received a copy of our Summer excursion itinerary. Yet there is something revealing about how personally we sometimes take it.

Perhaps this is because weather remains one of the few things left that stubbornly refuses to negotiate. We know this.. we even have sayings around it.. "Well, I guess you can't control the weather.." But it seems the more we are able to control life in general, whether it be our fridge letting us know when we are low on milk, the ability to GPS our way around the back streets of Naples, or Google the spelling of "Segue", the less we are prepared to cope with true variables. Technology has given us the comforting illusion that - with enough planning, enough information, and enough preparation - uncertainty can largely be eliminated.

And yet, here comes the rain...

The weather remains gloriously indifferent to our preferences. It arrives as it is, not as we hoped it would be. And perhaps that is why it frustrates us so much. It exposes the gap between expectation and reality. And that is precisely where disappointment likes to live. This is where the suffering begins. When we fail to see a rainy day as mothing more than a rainy day, we start comparing it to the "day we had in mind". Our upset, our self-blame, our sense that we are maybe just slightly cursed, all come from the poison ivy of expectations. And expaectations, when you politely ask them to strip down to their undies, are nothing more glamorous, than pre-planned resentments.

Some cultures handle this a little better than others. We Brits are not bad at it. We huddle around things, we sip hot coffee in deserted beach cafés, we brave most conditions. We coined the term "Keep Calm and Carry On", but boy, do we talk about the weather...

Perhaps this is the hidden reason why we enjoy a good old meteorological moan. Not because it is trivial chit-chat, but because it quietly mirrors life itself. The weather is gloriously unpredictable, beyond our control, capable of changing without warning, occasionally inconvenient and, every now and then, splendidly magnificent.

So the next time you find yourself discussing the temperature, complaining about the rain, or wondering where summer has disappeared to, consider that the weather may not be the thing you're really talking about. You may simply be expressing one of the oldest human experiences of all: learning to make peace with reality.

And if that reality happens to involve rain on your parade, there is always the possibility that someone, somewhere, is standing under a cloudless sky wishing for exactly the weather you have.

On Platform 13, wholeness isn’t found - it’s remembered. Because loss is loss, worthiness is universal, and no one is alone. We are all in this together.