It’s been raining in London again, which is no surprise, but a hard realization has fallen my way; here, rainy days are not unsurprising, they are the norm, and sunny days are not surprising. They are nonexistent. Continuing with the theme of unsurprising facts: endless cloudiness is miserable, and endless rain even more so.
It seems blunt to say, but the truth appears to be that Britain’s famed terrible weather represents a degree of inherent misery. I’m not entirely sure if locals are used to the weather or just used to being constantly a little bit miserable.
In moderation, I have nothing against rain. Outside rain forces a slight change in your life, a little excitement, a brisker walk, or a wielded umbrella. Inside it makes you value the coziness of your home. The best accompaniment to a hot cup of tea or a warm bed is the sound of raindrops on window sills and wind against shutters.
I’m not going to be the one to deny a rainy day’s charm. In the summer, it’s a welcome change of pace, and even stormy stretches in the spring have some value as they accompany the first bursts of greenery. But as with all things, an excess can lead to insanity, and I’m beginning to get a taste of Britain’s insanity.
It’s not sunny days celebrated in London; it’s sunny moments on otherwise cloudy days. All the little ants in the nest pour out in throngs of palpable excitement, everybody struggling to grasp some precious sunlight. It would be a cultured moment if it weren’t so depressing.
This densely packed collective of humans, many with all the world and more at their fingertips, can’t help but feel a tiny bit put down by the whims of the weather. Having tried our hardest to control everything ahead of us, what little remains unchanged sits proudly, niggling our endorphin levels.
When it comes to the concept of inherent misery, I’m drawn to wave my fist at the clouds, but a big part of it is in the very essence of the cities we live in. Cesspools of endless gray, blotted out horizons, blinded stars, excessive noise, and cold indifference, not to mention hostile edges and a good amount of hostile realities.
I enjoy the allure of urban life, I enjoy living in cities, and again I’m not going to be the one to deny that city life does hold a degree of charm. But cities also hold a degree of monotony and harshness, which, again, can lead to a degree of insanity, especially if the weather is conspiring to drive you mad as well.
Endless gray underfoot and endless gray above, day after day after day, I don’t think I have to defend myself when I say one of the requirements for living in London is a small degree of misery, entirely out of my control. It’s frankly a part of the city’s identity. A chaotic metropolis resigned to a little sadness.
I’ve written a lot about misery, and to be fair to myself, this has been something to come to terms with. Denying that endless miserable weather might cause a little misery is futile. But the fact that it is a collective misery does make it a little appealing in a twisted way. This aspect has almost been co-opted as part of British identity—the British ideal of stoicism in the face of all things, including very poor weather.
More relevant to me as a foreign student is that coming to terms with the realities of the weather here is a common challenge between my peers and me and all of my fellow foreigners in general. Something which places us all in the same boat, despite our differences. A true mark of assimilation: indifference to the weather.
I’m working on getting used to this miserable weather, and in doing so, I feel I’m learning a lot about this city and its people. So for now, I’ll just let it be something I write home and complain about. But once I can truly say that I’m indifferent to it, that I’ve grown used to it, be certain that I’ll wear it as a badge of honor.
