When I was little, I had an aversion to rain. When I got to college, I convinced myself that I hated the feeling of squinting when raindrops hit my eyebrows.
Once, in grad school, there was a Noah-ian storm, and finally I donned a swimsuit and headed out. I loved it. I love even more being clothed in a storm as an adult and feeling the rain pound my face and body in its randomness, curling my hair and soaking my clothes and deliberately connecting me to some reality I was drinking to forget.