Why I Romanticize Rain (And Silence)

I’m currently spending the month in Portland, Oregon, and I’ve been trying to adjust to the weather out here.  I’m used to the sunshine, heat, and light weather of Southern California.  Every time I come here, I’m met with cloudy skies, colder nights, and rainy days.  The sidewalks stay wet for hours. The sky lingers in shades of gray. Even the air feels heavier against my skin.

I’ve personally always loved rainy weather.  It makes me feel a little more alive compared to the exhaustion of consistent heat.  The air smells different.  It’s cool, damp, and just a little earthy.  I find myself inhaling a little deeper when it rains here. But what I love the most about rain is the silence that it brings.

For me, I’ve always been drawn to quiet spaces, the kind where I can hear my own thoughts without being drowned out by the chaos of the outside world.  Rain just so happens to magnify that quiet.  The city feels slower when it rains.  Cars move more carefully.  Conversations soften. I’ve been enjoying writing by the open windowsill, listening to the rain hit the concrete.  Sometimes I pause mid-sentence just to listen. To me, the world outside feels muted. And in that muting, I feel less overwhelmed.

As someone who’s neurodivergent, I live with constant overwhelm.  Loud conversations, bright lights, or crowded rooms don’t just tire me out, they stay with me long after I leave.  I’ve learned over time that my nervous system is always scanning, always processing.  Rain and silence go hand in hand and feel like permission to finally pause and simply just be.  

The rain brings sensory calm and reminds me of the beauty in slowing down and recharging your batteries.  It mirrors reflection and the quiet corners of life that go unnoticed.  Watching the world under a soft drizzle is pure meditation.  It’s a nudge to reconnect with myself, my thoughts, and my feelings.  Over time, I’ve realized that my love for rain isn’t random.  It’s restorative. It’s the closest I come to feeling regulated without trying so hard.

A lot of childhood memories resurface too.  I remember days of staying home in my pajamas, curling up next to our fireplace, and eating some nourishing, warm chicken noodle soup.  I’d watch my favorite cartoons, read a mystery novel, or write in my journal.  Those moments brought me peace in a way I didn’t fully understand back then.  

I think that’s why I romanticize rain.  It feels like home, and it feels like the part of my life where I don’t have to be anyone else.   It reminds me that softness can be grounding.  That slowing down can be productive in its own way.

I cherish the softness and the clarity that the rain brings.  It allows me to take in and notice the small things.  And silence, like the rain, has a rhythm of its own.  Things can get loud, but the rain reminds me it’s okay to step aside, let the noise pass, and be fully present in the quiet.

When was the last time you allowed yourself to truly savor silence?

“Some people feel the rain. Others just get wet.” – Bob Marley