What causes a man to head out into a rainstorm? To leave his perfectly cozy, warm and dry home, to rush out into the storm, not even pausing to put on his rain jacket, but to get soaked to the bone wearing nothing but a flannel shirt? Where does this instinct arise from?
Similarly, why is it that every time a snow storm blows in and the flakes fall thick and fast, that said man wants to do nothing more than throw on his best pair of trompin’ boots, grab a pair of thick gloves and perhaps a scarf, and race out into the swirling maelstrom of white flakes? To wander to and fro on the abandoned city streets? Or if he is more of a country dweller, to tramp aimlessly through the muffled solitude of forest and field, being completely content with his own company, finding pure joy in watching his tracks get smothered by fresh flakes? He eventually returns home, feet weary, gloves and hair soaked, and a bit shivery. But his eyes, oh how his eyes flash and gleam! Something is awake within him, something which modern society does not stir up, not ever!
The lazy summer heat is idyllic; the beautiful autumn days when the leaves drift slowly downward are dreamy; the clear, crisp January days are a reprieve. But none of these compare to the icy gales of a November windstorm or a June thunderstorm blowing in from out across the western plains. The primal nature of a man lives for these events. Perhaps it is a break from the normal monotony of life, where the “civilized” person locks the doors and shutters the windows in fear of the oncoming unrest. Where the drone of the office quickly becomes forgotten amidst the crackling bolts and stinging rain droplets against a naked face. Man wasn’t made to be locked in a box all day; nay, he longs to embrace the wild desires of his adventurous heart, and the oncoming storm provides just the perfect outlet. The winds and rain and sleet and ice provide the perfect foil to man’s tame existence in everyday society, where driving a comfortable sedan, drinking decaf coffee, and using a proper greeting in an email is the norm. But for a moment, such a glorious moment, the man stands out in the pouring rain, matted hair obscuring his vision, water coursing down his back, damply shivering in the chill air-and he is happy. His spirit soars amongst the towering thunderclouds, as his eyes flash wildly in the wan light. A smile spreads across his face, and he, with his clothes askew and with seemingly all sense of decency long-forgotten, allows himself to open up and feel, truly feel, what the true joy of being alive is. The grand moment is not bound to last forever, but for now, it is enough, and the man relishes the moment for as long as he dares, before returning to his warm and comfortable hearth.
The Heartlander's Journal 