Walked home in the rain tonight from my shift as a slot editor for The Daily Northwestern. I make the same walk once a week, usually after midnight, and it’s enough time for me to listen to a few songs on my iPod and organize my thoughts.

I’m not sure quite how to explain tonight. I always hesitate when waxing philosophic because if journalism has taught me anything, it’s that no one gives a damn about my opinion. If I don’t have a new perspective to add, it’s not interesting and it’s not worth writing. But something felt so strange tonight, I just had to get it on paper.

Tonight felt like when you replace your contacts with a fresh new pair and everything feels lighter, cleaner, crisper. I didn’t see a soul, which is strange for a college campus, of course. But there were no cars passing, no headlights bouncing off the puddles. It was just me and the way the street lights reflected off the melting snow, me and the sound of the rain on the pavement.

I’ve written so many times about how certain environments make me feel. I get claustrophobic when a grey Midwestern sky rolls in, and if I’m out in the woods, away from telephone poles and concrete, my lungs breathe a bit easier. Being here, in this strange environment where you can’t see the stars, makes me nervous. When I was home about a month ago, I found myself calmed by just how black the sky can be in the middle of nowhere.

Recently, it’s been melted, muddy snow and cold that you can feel in your joints. Tonight was a bit of a break from that, a cleanse, if you will. I certainly felt a lot better.

Part of it might have been my soundtrack for the moment. I slipped in my cheap white earbuds and pressed play; the first song that came up was one that I’ve fallen in love with these past few months. It’s “Amelia Jean” by Jack’s Mannequin, a gorgeous song and probably my favorite track off of JM’s most recent album, “People and Things.” Something struck a chord in me with this song (no pun intended?), and tonight it felt more poignant than ever.

I’d like to think I’m Amelia Jean. She chases trains and dreams of far-off places, road trips and worlds she’s never seen. But she was left behind, and the world moved on without her. It’s a strange feeling, being the one left in the rain. Stuck spinning, really, with no hope of exodus, and at a crossroads of a sort.

But tonight as I walked home, I tilted my head back and let the rain fall on my face. I expected it to feel much colder, much harsher — the kind of Illinois winter storm with wind you can feel in your chest. But there was no frantic wind, no icy shock. It was just water on my face, clean and clear, and I couldn’t help but think of baptism. 

Maybe Amelia Jean doesn’t need anyone to save her. 

My shirt is soaked to my skin and rain drops are still falling from my eyelashes as I type this. I’d like to think I look like Holly Golightly in the final scene of Breakfast at Tiffany’s, but that’s a bit of a stretch. All I know is that tonight, a fog lifted and I feel lighter than I have in a long time. I don’t know how long it’ll last, but all I can do is savor the here and now.