Rainbows

This is one of those funny posts for me. It started because I had a thought about rainbows, which then led me down a path of remembering the first time I felt joy and sorrow simultaneously (on a trip to Edinburgh), which then led me to a statement declaring I would give a friend money for having not fessed up that I’d already been through a “scary” tourist trap that he wanted to take me through. I think the moment I realised I was going to part with my money was the moment I realised that I needed to get back on topic.

So… back to the topic of rainbows.

I can never decide if rainbows make me happy or sad. I can never decide if the dreams that they hold make up for the fact that they are merely an illusion. It makes me smile to look at them, but it’s so frustrating that – try as I may – I can never catch one. I can never hold one. I can never feel the array of colours in my hands. And there certainly isn’t a pot of gold at the end of one – as much as I want to believe there is. As a child, I knew it was there. And there was once a time that I allowed my adult self to imagine that maybe, just maybe, it’s there – hiding behind the mask of grown-up cynicism.

I guess that the truth is that I struggle some days. I struggle to find the energy to believe that there might just be a pot of gold at the end of that rainbow. But I want to believe that the illusion is real. I want to believe that one day I will be walking along and all of the sudden a rainbow appears in all of its Roy G. Biv greatness and I’ll be able to reach out and touch it. I’ll be able to feel its glow. And I’ll have a wee chat with the leprechaun charged with protecting that pot of gold.

As part of my goal to be blissfully happy, I am going to start giving rainbows a chance. I am going to work to find that innocent joy in the simplicity of nature’s gift. And I’m going to find more reasons to be happy about rainbows than sad about them.

I know, it’s sort of a nonsense post today. I blame it on Kermit.