Rain.

I have no clue what this is, just a random photo I think my grandbaby girl took while holding my phone yesterday.

It's a lovely rainy day.

I’m up early just listening to the sound of rain falling on the trees and the roof.

It's so peaceful.

I’m grateful for many things in my life. Most of all, my little granddaughter caught a stomach bug this week and ended up in the hospital. She’s fine and only had to stay one night for IV fluids, but that poor little girl has had a rough few days.

I’m so grateful both of my grandkids are healthy. And I am especially grateful that my grandbaby is home and slept all night. Being in a Children's Hospital is a powerful reminder to give thanks for that every single day.

And I will.

It's funny. I like to think of myself as an optimistic person. So lately I’ve been thinking about that trait and trying to understand it a little better.

I have one group of close friends who actually call me Pollyanna because I am always trying to find the positive, even in really tough situations.

I believe we all have good and bad traits inside of us. Even really difficult people likely have some good traits.

I had a client once who was really, really hard to work with. When people would ask how things were going, I would smile and say, “We’re learning a lot.”

And honestly, we were. We were learning exactly how not to treat people by watching his behavior. Eventually, we stepped away from that account.

During my years working with brilliantly creative people, I believed in the good of others so deeply that I often stayed focused on their best qualities—their talent, their potential, their gifts.

And in many cases, people rose to that version of themselves.

I think it helped me. I hope it helped them too.

I've only had four long-term relationships in my life, including my eighteen-year marriage, and I’m genuinely grateful for the gifts, lessons, and joy each relationship brought me.

But as I continue processing the most difficult and painful ending of a relationship I have ever experienced, I’ve been doing a lot of writing and asking myself a question:

Why don't I seem to see red flags the way other people do?

I love analogies, and here's the one helping me right now.

People are like houses.

They have many rooms.

Some rooms are beautiful.

Some rooms are full of old boxes, stored baggage, and things they just can't seem to throw away.

There are junk drawers too.

My mother had a junk drawer in nearly every room of our house growing up. Thinking about those drawers still makes me smile. They weren't really full of trash. They were full of bits and bobbles and little things nobody knew quite what to do with.

Anyway, back to my analogy.

When it comes to relationships, I find the most beautiful room in the house and I stay there.

I don't really want anything to change.

I know the other rooms exist. I'm aware of them. I just choose to stay in the room I love.

Follow me? Does anyone else do this, or is this particular quirk uniquely mine?

The insight I've been having lately is this:

I don't actually ignore the other rooms. I simply don't spend much time in them. I focus on the room that feels warm and beautiful and safe.

But people are whole houses.

And eventually life asks us to walk through every room.

The beautiful ones. The messy ones. The locked ones. The rooms filled with old hurts.The rooms we wish weren't there at all.

We all have good traits and difficult traits.

Myself included.

Maybe what shocks me isn't discovering those other rooms. Maybe it's realizing they were always there.

So how do I stop being Pollyanna and start seeing reality head on?

I don't think the answer is becoming bitter or cynical. I don't want to stop believing in the good in people. That belief has served me well for most of my life.

I think the answer is learning to walk through the entire house.

To appreciate the beautiful rooms while also acknowledging the cluttered ones.

To see people as they are instead of as I hope they will become.

And before I can do any of that, I have to face an emotion I have spent a lifetime avoiding.

Anger.

I don't like anger. Honestly, I hate it.

It frightens me when I feel it in my own body.

So I have become very good at pushing it down, explaining it away, or finding something positive to focus on instead.

But I am beginning to learn that anger isn't something to avoid.

It is something to listen to.

Because underneath most anger is grief.

And grief, unlike anger, knows how to move.

Slowly.

Imperfectly.

But forward.

Anger circles. Grief moves.

Not at a pace most of us would choose.

But it moves.

So maybe my work right now is not to forgive.

Not to understand.

Not to find the silver lining.

Maybe my work is simply to grieve.

My grandson loves the rain.

He runs outside without his clothes and takes a "shower" on the deck. His love of rain is one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen...

Today, I will embrace the rain with the wonder filled heart of a toddler.