People run from rain but sit in bathtubs full of water.

Control matters more than comfort

There's something wonderfully contradictory about how we relate to water depending on whether we feel we're choosing it or not. We'll dodge a downpour like it's a personal attack, yet spend twenty minutes luxuriating in a hot bath without a second thought. The difference isn't really the water itself—it's control, context, and intention. A bath is yours. You set the temperature, you decide when it ends. Rain just happens to you.

This contradiction shows up everywhere in how we live. We stress about situations we didn't choose to enter but obsess over carefully curating our own experiences. We'll tolerate discomfort when we're the ones steering the ship, but resist the identical discomfort when it feels imposed. It's not weakness or illogic—it's just deeply human. The shower we run feels like a luxury; the storm we didn't schedule feels like an inconvenience.

Bukowski's observation is really about agency, though he doesn't say it outright. Maybe the wiser move isn't to stop running from rain, but to remember that feeling like you're choosing something, even something small and ordinary, matters more than you'd think. The power to decide your own story beats almost everything else—even literal comfort.