Finding Serenity in Chaos: A Bike Ride, Rainstorm, and the Beauty of Being Present"

As I woke up from a night of overthinking at 5:00 in the morning, a hurtful thought still lingering in my mind, I reminded myself of a powerful mantra: "My mind doesn't control me; I control my mind."

It's a frame of thought that most people don't embrace, but I knew I had to if I wanted to break free from the chains of negativity.With renewed determination, I pushed myself out of bed and took a deep breath, gazing out over the horizon in search of the promised sunrise. Today, I decided, I would head to the lake to witness its beauty firsthand.

So, I hopped on my dusty bike, its tires deflated, and pedaled with all my might. However, my journey hit a stumbling block when I reached the petrol station, only to find that the machine was out of order.Never one to shy away from a challenge, I noticed the digits on the machine and, foolishly, attempted to inflate my tires manually.

To my dismay, the opposite happened, and my tires deflated even more. I couldn't help but burst into hysterical laughter, realizing the lesson that had been served to me. The pressure in the machine had built up overnight, and my ill-fated attempt at using it resulted in a further deflation of my tires. Lesson learned, indeed.

Undeterred, I sought out another gas station and finally managed to get my tires filled up halfway. With newfound determination, I pedaled as fast as I could towards the lake, but dense clouds loomed ominously overhead. The sunrise plan was abruptly canceled by Mother Nature herself. Undeterred, I made my way down to the water's edge, finding solace in the act of meditation.

In that moment, I did nothing but observe—taking in the clouds, the water, and the gentle chatter of people nearby. It was a state of calmness, a pocket of peace that enveloped me completely. However, my tranquil reverie was interrupted by a call from Ali, my trusted barber, who beckoned me urgently.

"Come fast, I am waiting," Ali said. Today was the day I had been eagerly anticipating—a summer cut that had been weeks in the making. Despite the heavy drizzle, I hurried as fast as I could, seeking shelter from the single drops that began to pour down. When I finally arrived, Ali suggested we conduct the haircut in the veranda.

As I sat in that rustic veranda, I closed my eyes, reveling in the trust that had formed between Ali and me. It was this trust that led me to get a haircut in a makeshift salon, amidst a downpour, seated on a semi-broken wooden chair. The rain continued to pour heavily, but I realized I needed to make my way home.

The cycle ride back home was a mere ten minutes, but I knew I was about to get completely drenched. Once again, relying on trust, I handed my phone and watch to Ali and ventured out into the heavy downpour. Memories of my childhood flooded back, evoking nostalgia for carefree days of riding bikes in the rain, playing games, and engaging in daring water stunts to see who could create the biggest splash.

Initially, the experience was uncomfortable as the rain and wind relentlessly pelted me, causing me to question my decision. I went from being completely dry to utterly soaked in a matter of seconds. Even my shoes became waterlogged, a humorous situation in hindsight. But then something shifted within me—I became comfortable with the discomfort.

In that moment, the biting wind didn't feel cold, my soaked shoes didn't bother me, and the rain failed to make me any wetter than I already was. It was a grounding experience, one that allowed me to truly observe my surroundings. I witnessed a fellow cyclist desperately racing to reach work, a person on a bus casting a wistful glance at my liberated state, and a lost biker seeking directions. Even those seeking shelter marveled at my seemingly unshackled spirit.

It was a state of bliss, a moment I wished would never end. I felt deeply connected to nature and fully present in the here and now. Each passing second felt like a scene from a movie, and I reveled in the experience. As I finally arrived home, I shed my soaked clothes and stepped outside to continue embracing the rain. I savored every drop, acutely aware that this downpour was both the first and last of its kind I would witness.

In retrospect, I realized that this was what it meant to live in the present. It was a reminder to appreciate the beauty of life's unpredictable moments, to find joy in the discomfort, and to fully immerse oneself in the world around us.

Perhaps, I thought, this was the key to unlocking a truly fulfilling existence—being fully present and engaged in every passing moment.

Maybe, just maybe, it was.