I spent the weekend we went rafting and caving (wooo) telling myself to be more positive…and I must say,  I’m quite a bit happier now. Not happy, but at least not on a perpetual mope – I suppose at some point you have to smack yourself and tell yourself it’s not worth it.

It helps that it’s been raining a lot. Thunderous downpours, not the sissy, slimy, sloppy kind. And I love it. I love rain. I love standing at the pantry window when it’s coming, listening to the blinds beat on the window, like it’s trying to get in. I love feeling the cold wind rush in and envelope the small, darkening rectangular space. I love watching the rain smash down onto the helpless unassuming rooftops, abruptly softening the sharp, hard edges of the city, melding the dull, muted colours into an indiscernible steel blue and washing away the hills peering over the horizon. And then walking out and feeling the drizzle, stepping out under a night sky that is the confused colour of a bruise.

It helps that everyday I am surrounded by people I can laugh with, laugh at, and who laugh at me.

Now I might have believed it sooner if they hadn’t plonked it on every possible card and plaque and shareable quote of the day or whatever… but it really is true that we should count our blessings one by one.