When I was younger, thunderstorms scared me. The loud flashing lights, heavy sound of rain, and trees whipping in the wind all culminated in this monumental end-of-the-world event.
When my family first moved into our house, we were surrounded by loose thickets and many dying trees. The wood, more often than not, broke in high winds, tangling in power lines, leaving many stormy nights devoid of electricity.
I hated storms with a passion. And worse yet, my parents and brother showed no fret about the fateful nights. Dad would stand in the open garage, watching lightning streak the sky. Mom would watch the weather channels, scanning over the colors of reds and yellows and scrolling across the TV screens.
Whether it was cloudy when the city did siren tests, when forecasts called for severe weather, or even when the rain picked up, my heart would find ways to run races with my anxiety.
My childhood, like most, was made up partially by fear. My fear of storms was crippling. That meant always hiding within my mother’s arms when a loud crack of thunder hit the roof and shook the house.
But as it turns out, the more I talked with my mother, the more her fascination with the tempest intrigued my little mind. She sat with me multiple times, talking about what made a storm cloud a storm cloud. How the wind swirled around trees yet never tore them from the ground.
She wanted to be a weather girl, and I would also find myself having wild dreams of storm chasing.
All it took, however, was to face my fear. I had to turn my nerves into curiosity. I watched documentaries, shows, and online videos of meteorologists examining satellite scans and photographing odd-looking clouds.
I was not sure how I got past the doom of being sucked up by a tornado, but I can be assured that my biggest fear now is hydroplaning my car on the way to school.
Rain went from flooding to cool mists in the morning, the wind turned to gentle breezes to fly my kite, and lighting blossomed the soft green buds of springtime.
Without it, I may have never been able to gaze in wonderful awe at an approaching storm. To miss something so spectacular, would be to have lost a part of me.
I no longer hide from storms. Instead, I watch in a silent challenge to see the best strikes of electricity and run below the oncoming front of winds curled into a bow echo.
In every piece of media, there is some form of fear or overcoming obstacles that challenge the protagonist to think and face the doubt with courage. In everyone’s lives, there is always something forcing change and maturity.
Maybe for me, it was learning that storms are not meant to harm. Despite their loud and rowdy nature, most of the time, rain is just rain. Like a barking dog exited or the sports team getting loud, if I step back and watch, I can see that everything will be safe, and there is no need to fret.
To go back and talk to myself is something I always considered the possibility of. To say that I should not be scared, I would just be copying my parents and brother. It would not do me much to say not to be afraid.
It’s human nature to be, so instead, I would say to be scared. Being scared forced me to take new perspectives in hopes of escaping my situation.
Without it, I may have never been able to gaze in wonderful awe at an approaching storm. To miss something so spectacular would be to have lost a part of me.
