I recently decided to stop looking at the weather app on my phone every day. With the exponential proliferation of information available, so much of life can now be examined and parceled before it happens.
What I realized was absent was a certain degree of mystery, the surprising delight of serendipity. In a world where everything can be known, the unknown has the pleasant tang of the unfamiliar and exciting.
And so, living without predictions, especially of weather, is one way to release serendipity, to let the rain swirl up without warning and release a taste of sky into the air. To allow it to behave or misbehave as it will. There is nothing quite like the pleasure of a thunderstorm you just weren't expecting suddenly lashing out of the sky.
It goes deeper, tapping an intuition of what the shape of my life must become if my days and years are to be meaningful, resonant and unembittered.
After all, a well-known author once wrote, "The world will never starve for want of wonders, only for want of wonder."
For me, mystery and serendipity are precursors of wonder. So in this small way, I'll continue to resist that itch to discover what my world and life are going to be like before I actually live them.