If Only Life Came With Fish Scale Clouds

I looked up at the sky this morning on my way to the barn, in that brisk fall air with the moon still lighting up the darkness, and there they were.

Fish scale clouds.

That's what I've always called them, anyway. Those little clouds scattered across the sky that look like the scales on the side of a fish.

And I smiled.

Not necessarily because they're pretty, although they are, but because I know what they mean.

Within the next 24 to 72 hours, we're getting precipitation.

It's my one little magic trick. My own personal weather forecasting system that has yet to prove me wrong. No radar, no fancy equipment, no meteorology degree.

Just me, looking up at the sky and knowing what's coming.

And this time of year, we'll gladly welcome the rain.

There's something incredibly comforting about that kind of predictability.

I see the sign. I know what's coming. I can prepare accordingly.

No surprises. No guessing. No scrambling to figure out what the hell just happened.

God, I wish more things in life worked that way.

Imagine looking up at the sky on a Tuesday morning and knowing that Thursday was going to be an absolute shitshow.

Or that next month, someone was going to break your heart.

Or that six months from now, something you've worked your ass off for was finally going to come together.

Wouldn't it be nice to know?

To have just a little warning before life comes barreling through the front door, tracking mud across your freshly cleaned floors and rearranging everything you thought you had figured out?

I know some people love the unknown. They thrive on spontaneity, surprises, and letting life unfold however it's going to unfold.

Good for them.

The unknown scares the absolute shit out of me.

There. I said it.

I'm a planner. An overthinker. A preparer. And, depending on who you ask, a bit of a control freak.

Okay, maybe more than a bit.

But here's the thing about control that I don't think everyone understands.

Sometimes it isn't about wanting everything to go your way.

Sometimes it's about wanting to know that if something goes wrong, you're the one responsible for fixing it.

Because if I'm in control, I can influence the outcome. Good or bad, the responsibility falls on my shoulders. I know what I did, what I didn't do, and what I could have done differently.

I don't have to wonder whether someone else is going to follow through. I don't have to sit around hoping someone will show up, make the right decision, or handle something that matters to me.

I can just do it myself.

And while that might sound like independence, there's a pretty uncomfortable truth hiding underneath it.

Sometimes control is just fear dressed up as responsibility.

That's been a learned trait over my 29 years of life.

Yes, 29. We're not discussing the math.

Life has taught me to prepare for disappointment, to have backup plans for my backup plans, and to never assume that things will work out simply because they're supposed to.

And after enough years of living that way, you stop recognizing how exhausting it is.

You just call it being responsible.

Being dependable.

Being the person who gets shit done.

And you know what? People come to rely on that version of you.

They know you'll figure it out. You'll handle it. You'll find a way.

What they don't always see is the mental gymnastics happening behind the scenes, trying to anticipate every possible problem before it becomes one.

It's like having 47 browser tabs open in your brain, and every single one of them is playing a different emergency alert.

My therapist and I have spent a fair amount of time discussing this particular personality feature.

It's been near the top of my list of things to work through.

And while I've made progress, that elephant is still sitting comfortably in my brain, taking up valuable real estate and refusing to pay rent.

Because knowing why you do something doesn't automatically make it easy to stop doing it.

I can recognize that I don't need to control everything. I can acknowledge that other people are capable of carrying responsibilities. I can even admit that some of the most wonderful things in my life have happened without a single ounce of planning on my part.

But actually releasing that grip?

Whew.

That's a whole different conversation.

And maybe that's what I've been thinking about lately.

How much of our lives do we spend trying to prepare for things that haven't happened yet?

How many perfectly good days do we sacrifice worrying about a difficult tomorrow?

How much energy do we pour into trying to predict heartbreak, disappointment, conflict, or failure, only to be blindsided by something we never even considered?

And while we're busy preparing for all the things that could go wrong, how often do we forget that the unexpected can be wonderful, too?

The phone call you never saw coming.

The opportunity you didn't know existed.

The person who shows up when you weren't looking for anyone.

The success that comes from taking a chance you couldn't possibly have planned your way through.

There's no fish scale cloud formation for those things.

No warning. No forecast. No guarantee.

And that makes them a little terrifying, too.

I wish I could wrap this up by telling you I've learned to embrace the unknown, surrender control, and trust that everything will work out exactly as it's supposed to.

But that would be a load of bullshit.

I'm still working on it.

I'm still learning that being prepared and being in control aren't necessarily the same thing. That accepting help doesn't make me less capable. That trusting someone else doesn't automatically mean setting myself up for disappointment.

And that maybe, just maybe, I don't have to know how every chapter ends before I'm willing to turn the page.

So this morning, I looked up at those little fish scale clouds and smiled because, for once, I knew exactly what was coming.

Rain.

Within 24 to 72 hours.

The rest of my life?

I haven't got a damn clue.

And I'm trying really hard to be okay with that.