did you see that rainbow?

one cloudy dark day in Berlin (it was christmas eve), I went running through Tempelhof Field, and there, right after turning a corner, I ran into a rainbow. it felt so close that I could almost touch it. I couldn’t believe my eyes. if you took a picture of my face, you’ll think that I just won a million dollars; that was the extent of my enthusiasm. the rainbow itself was so tall it was almost vertical; as if, somewhere in the sky, there was a rainbow-spouting faucet, and someone had turned it on.

I looked around me at the other people walking, running, cycling, rollerblading — and I wondered: why is no one else looking at this in shock and awe? why is no one else as silly, giddy, and happy as I? why was I the only one looking ridiculous; with my body running forward while my neck and face turned ninety degrees, gawking?

maybe they looked, but they didn’t see. by see, I mean, feel. or maybe they did feel, but not with the intensity and extremity that I did. I felt personally blessed, lucky, and in wonder at life. I felt at the miracle of being alive, being here, in this specific time and place — where I was running along a 6 km loop and just happened to run into this. I felt such gratitude for life.

it was so fleeting; it lasted barely a moment, and then it faded away. I didn’t take a picture. my mind was the camera. then, one female jogger (the only one I saw smiling) pointed behind me, and we saw the rainbow on its other end. I felt extra blessed then.

reflecting back now, I think this is how I want to live my life. my life is the 6 km loop — and all its experiences are my rainbow. I want to open my eyes wide. I don’t want to miss a single moment. I want to smile like an idiot. I want to run forwards while gawking. then I want to write about it.