I was once in Priston, a village just outside of Bath (Somerset, England). It's a beautiful part of the world, rich with history. The countryside is lush, and the single-lane roads are lined by hedgerows.

One evening, my hosts suggested that we have a drink at the local pub. It was a ten-minute walk from the house, so we set off.

On average, Priston sees precipitation one out of every three days. Here's what I learned: the locals aren't bothered by it. They like it. They embrace it.

As we walked to the pub that evening, a constant drizzle saturated me. One of my hosts remarked, "I just love the feeling of a light rain on my face. Isn't it extraordinary?"

She was delighted.

Back home, the rain might have made me grumble. Surely, I'd have taken an umbrella. But here, in Priston, we walk to the pub to meet friends. If it rains a little, we get wet. We'll dry off by the warmth of the hearth.

* * *

Light rain. Moderate traffic. Slow service.

If we want to focus on these things as undesirable – if we want them to be an irritation that contextualizes our day – we can. But what is the cost?

Isn't it better to focus on the positive when we're faced with situations outside of our control?

• It's raining, and I'm on my way to see friends at the pub.
• I'm delayed by traffic, and I can listen to the rest of my podcast.
• The service is slow, and I can take a few moments to let my mind slow down and ruminate.

Be annoyed if you want. But by doing so, you're missing the good stuff.