I walk in the rain.

It's not like I had a choice. Here's a poem about why we're better outdoors than in, plus some reflections on Joe Lycett and creativity.

Bewellingtonned trudging with my parents and in-laws, back in 2020. As a seasoned staycationer, my raincoat is a second skin.

I read a great interview with Joe Lycett in It’s Nice That recently, about creativity and making art even if it’s (literally) rubbish. In case you hadn’t seen —

[Here, I take an unscheduled break to spend a full five minutes planting huge, obnoxiously loud, mwah mwah mwahhhh kisses on my baby’s face while he screeches delightedly and yanks fistfuls of my hair. He gets the sillies pre-bathtime, which is when he makes all his best and most outrageous noises. Sometimes he even kisses me back. If opening his mouth as wide as possible to blow a giant, wet raspberry on my chin counts as kissing. Anyway.]

In case you hadn’t seen, earlier this year Joe Lycett published a photography book about bins alongside painting, making pottery, and pulling performance art stunts. I love the unabashed, open way he talks about the things he likes to make, and this pull quote especially:

“The psychology of it I don’t fully understand, but the huge barrier for loads of people to be creative is that they think they will be judged and they think it’s shit. That’s the thing I’d like people to get over.”

I’d like to get over that, too. It’s what I’m trying to do here on Substack, really. Because for years and years, I’ve not only refused to share any writing (or any other art) because I think it’ll be shit and everyone will hate it. I’ve not even written it, drawn it, or done it. Now, with so little time to spare, it feels extremely indulgent to spend it on something ‘unproductive’, just because I feel like it. There’s another brilliant quote on this in the book I Didn’t Do The Thing Today by Madeleine Dore:

What a pity it is when we don’t even start something because we fear it will be a waste of time — for example, we never begin writing our novel because we worry it will never get published…. This may explain why it can be easier to disappear into busy schedules — surely ‘wasting’ the day on things that fill the time is more acceptable than wasting the day on something that might lead nowhere.

Maybe it won’t go anywhere, maybe it’s a bit shit, maybe it’s imperfect, and maybe I should read more poems if I’m going to have the audacity to write them and I’m just making everybody cringe. But maybe it’s also time to write for the sake of writing, and stop worrying about it.

So. In the spirit of writing and sharing the things I feel like writing, here’s a poem that’s been going around my head for a week or two. We’re all doing a lot of walking in the rain, at the minute, aren’t we? And it’s really beautiful out there, if you can brave it — and perhaps if you can stop thinking of it as something to be braved.

Grab a raincoat and enjoy.

Or don’t. I’ll be back next week all the same, because Joe Lycett said so. Bye.

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I walk in the rain

And I realise I’ve been wrong.
For so long, I thought
rain was best drummed against windowpanes,
running rivers down glass
traced by a wistful fingertip.
It’s dripping, now —
trickling from hood to eyelash to cheek to lip,
but instead of hunching shoulders
and stomping for shelter
(hopeless)
I stop.
I breathe,
skin slick, hair sticking,
beneath raindrop jostled leaves,
tall grass dashed and sparkling.
I wonder how much I’ve missed
waiting for this to pass.
No more watching sodden view
glowering through wanting window.
As the clouds gather,
I reach for a raincoat
and wrench open the door.
I will walk, I say.
I will live.
I will get wet.