Swimming in the Rain

Anyone who doesn't understand the concept of supersaturation should try swimming in the rain. It's a weird sensation, being as thoroughly soaked as you can get but still feeling the water pelting down on you. Maybe you dive under for a whild, maybe you tell yourself it doesn't bother you, but it certainly doesn't help. After all, you're already surrounded by the stuff. You don't need even more of it. On the other hand, you're already surrounded by the stuff. How much worse is it really to endure a little bit more on the top?

But here's the thing. There's a big difference between being completely immersed in something and being bombarded with thousands of tiny little reminders, not to mention it makes it harder to see where you're going. Oh, and let's not forget the clouds that close in overhead, robbing you of the sunlight you didn't appreciate quite as much before they sequestered it all to themselves.

Now, here you are, in the middle of a lake, not sure if you can see the shore, treading water just to try to get your bearings. You're cold and getting colder, and your legs are getting tired. You wish desperately that a lifeguard would ride out on a boat and pull you aboard, give you a pat on the back and a blanket and take you back to safety.

There is no lifeguard. There is no boat. There is only you and the water and the rain. But then somebody swims by in a scuba mask and water wings, and they say they think they know where the shore is.

"How do you know?" You ask. "You can't see it."

"Well, it's got to be somewhere," they reply, "and maybe the rain will let up while we're looking."

Maybe you follow them. Maybe you don't. Maybe you make it. Maybe you don't. It's overwhelming swimming in the rain, but just then, for a moment, I bet you forgot.