I was sitting in the car with my dad, having just finished reading another portion of The Subtle Art of Not Giving a F*ck by the remarkable Mark Manson, whom I recently followed on social media. It had become a book that practically never left my side. 

I gazed out the window of my dad’s car, admiring the rain, as he played Line Bubble, a game on his phone, thinking about the delight that sat in the Van Gogh tote bag between my legs. Watching and listening as the rain pattered harder against the car’s exterior, creating a pleasant, audible backdrop, in that moment I realized that if I hadn’t gone back to my dorm, I would be screwed. Or, in better, more precise terms, soaked.

My dad had requested to have lunch with me the day prior at 11 a.m., and for once I was on track to be on time. That being, I expected myself to get to his car by 11. But, despite catching a glimpse of sunlight (and not rain) from my fourth-floor dorm room and thinking, It's not going to rain, right? There’s sun! I proceeded to head out the side door towards Safeway, only to turn back, heading back up four flights of stairs, to grab my umbrella.

And, as a result, I was 10 minutes late.

Call it foresight.

Thankfully, my dad didn’t mind. We're busy people, after all.

After spending some quality time admiring the rain, chatting, and doing whatever else a father and son in a car might do (such as indulging in Line Bubble), we finally left the car. The sun had started to peek out again, but the rain continued to fall. I felt a sense of satisfaction for having the foresight to bring my umbrella. How nice it is to have an umbrella, I thought. But how dreadful it is to have to share one (as he boxed me for umbrella coverage with his shoulder) with my dad.