The spontaneity of falling in love with clouds


Jessie Warren

An embodiment of those clouds that dare to challenge nightfall.

This time a year ago, I would have never considered buying a two-dollar vase from Goodwill, certainly not one painted with daisies and sage green brushstrokes. To be honest, I don’t even know if this time a year ago I had ever shopped at Goodwill in the first place.  

The Saturdays of my sophomore year dripped in monotony. At my own doing—or by the powers of some omnipotent ruler who commanded my brain power—I honestly never did anything outside of my routine. The paintings on my walls remained the same, similar to the poppies of my bedspread and the spinning of the vinyl on my record player. 

And whether this was inspired by my vendetta towards change or my ill-tempered relationship with spontaneity, it controlled my entire existence. Plans that were made had to be set in stone at least a week beforehand, and every single presentation had to be practiced down to a picture-perfect tee. 

Then, by some great avalanche that we’ve all heard of too many times to count, everything shifted—not in some finespun quake but rather a tumultuous upheaval. Shake after shake threw my perspective while simultaneously nothing of consequence occurred.

Change became my walking buddy, and spontaneity became my constant companion. Yet neither ever made themselves known. 

Evermore, the clouds will continue to take the dare of nightfall. Why not take it with them?

Then I fell in love with the way the clouds move across the sky, particularly before dusk. They march across the window panes of sleeping children, emboldened by the dare of darkness. Nightfall is but another futile occurrence, but for these wisps within the sky, it means life or death.

And whether it be because of my love for the clouds or simply because I’ve befriended innovation, I am suddenly spontaneous. I agree to go places with little regard to what will happen when I get there, and I find myself more excited than afraid. 

Instead of laying face up in a pool of reflective rainbows, I climb into the back seats of cars I’ve never traveled in. I laugh at the words of individuals I barely know, and I let myself be happy in the fact that I am completely uncomfortable.

I buy two-dollar vases from Goodwill that are painted with daisies and sage green brushstrokes—vases that I find on adventures I’ve planned a day or even an hour in advance.

What I’ve found in these explorations, other than my shaky legs and ever-present nerves, is the existence of grace. While it is terrifying to break from the shell I have so exquisitely crafted around myself, nearly nothing goes wrong when I choose to be spontaneous. Most often, everything works out for the better.

Evermore, the clouds will continue to take the dare of nightfall. Why not take it with them?