I find myself complaining about the awful humidity here in central Pennsylvania. I feel like I’m walking through a bog, a swampland, a sweaty shower room, or a jungle. You get the idea. The air feels heavy and moist. It’s oppressive. It even feels hard to breath.
Ugh! You cannot take a long walk in this! I call out to the neighborhood, “This is Pennsylvania, not the deep South! What is happening!?”
But then I remember something. It’s funny I remember this at the precise moment of my complaining.
I remember these exact conditions I detest create the perfect environment for my gardenia cuttings to root and thrive. In fact, I’m growing them in my bathroom so they can enjoy the humid, moist air after everyone showers. Oh, the blessing of humidity to create this kind of beauty!
For some, the humidity blesses. I like to remember how the very thing I’m complaining about might actually mean something wonderful to someone else. I learn to think differently and ask under what conditions or circumstances my complaint would change to a blessing.
Finally, I recall how, in the depths of winter, the dry, cold air cracks my skin and lips. I long for humidity.
Consider humidity: it’s a practice in perspective taking.