There’s a podcast I listen to occasionally called The Life Coach School (I used to tune in religiously, until I began to hear the same principles over and over, and took a break). Recently, I listened again and one phrase caught my attention. In her usual matter-of-fact fashion, Brooke told her audience: “We’re all going to die.”
Pretty cheery thought at 6:37 AM, don’t you think? But the more I reflected, the more meaningful it became. Why was I waiting to revise that novel? Why didn’t I book that trip to Hawaii? Why weren’t the HH and I going on date nights at least once a week? Why didn’t I tell every single person I care about that I care about them–?!
Really, once you adopt that perspective–that you’re going to die (and also, that it will come much sooner than you imagine)–then time becomes incredibly precious.
Yes, we all know this fact intellectually. Life is short, we don’t know how much time we have left, we should make the most of it, yadda yadda yadda. But how often do you internalize that concept emotionally, physically, fully? How often do you embrace the idea that each second is a gift, and we should always appreciate the gifts we receive?
Me, I go through phases where I’m keenly aware of the passage of time and so am grateful for every moment. Sure, they’re interspersed with days where I’m totally unaware, eat seven brownies, sit on the couch and watch Netflix, and ponder my hangnails.
But when I am in awareness, those are the days I leave the HH little love notes in the snow on his windshield, when I tell my sister we should speak more often, when I call an old friend and suggest a brunch date.
On those fully-aware days, I sometimes look up to the sky and thank the Universe for the sunshine, for being alive, for the dogs, for my beloved matcha latte in the morning. I appreciate my still-mobile body (even if I couldn’t walk without orthotics), my ability to see (even if slightly impaired by looming cataracts), the abundance of food (even if the store was out of my favorite oat milk) or a roof over my head (even if this damned house has every light switch outside the room in question).
Overall, life is pretty good, considering. And as the saying goes, if we all threw our problems into a big pile in the town square and saw everyone else’s, we’d snatch our own back faster than Zoey gulps down a dog treat.
Of course, I have my days when I think life sucks, too. On those days, I ignore the passage of time and just procrastinate. I’m human.
Dogs, on the other hand, never seem to wallow, do they (unless literally wallowing in mud or something similar). I’ve never seen a dog, unless physically incapacitated, refuse a walk, play, food, or anything else that life has to offer.
In fact, I’d say that dogs are the canine embodiment of the phrase, “seize the day” (though in their case, more like “seize the play.” Or “seize the dog biscuit”).
That’s not to say they’re not aware of the passage of time. Zoey, for instance, is acutely aware of seconds ticking by at certain times of the day; that girl seems to possess an uncanny inner alarm clock. At precisely 2:52 PM each afternoon, she saunters over to me and initiates the afternoon routine of “requesting a walk” (normal walk time is around 3:30).
It goes like this. First, she lays her head on my thigh, squishing it perfectly between my leg and the desk, gazing up at me with eyes as big as a Margaret Keane toddler. I pat her for a few seconds, tell her “it’s not time yet” and get back to work.
Three minutes later, she’s back at it again. This time, her head is placed vertically along my torso so her nose is even closer to my face. I laugh, pat her again, send her back to the window to yearn while I keep working.
Depending on how persistent she is and how involved I am in the work, this routine could repeat anywhere from two to four more times before I finally stand up, lead her to the hubby’s office down the hall, and tell him “Time for a walk.” Then we all head out together for the afternoon perambulation.
So okay, I was mistaken. Walk time isn’t 3:30 PM; it’s more like “when Zoey finally convinces me to move away from the desk” PM.
Aware of time, but not ruled by it. What do I mean? Well, again, Zoey provides the perfect embodiment of this principle.
Let’s say we’re out at the park playing with her Flying Squirrel (a cloth, more-or-less square, version of a Frisbee) and she’s having the time of her life. In those instances, normal dinnertime (otherwise a Five-alarm priority) is postponed indefinitely. Joy in the present moment trumps joy in the future.
But what about deferral of gratification, and all that? Well, as I mentioned previously, I believe dogs can implement that skill, too–just not very often. And while we humans are aware of the future reward for time spent toiling now, living in the moment means appreciating the sweat and muscle fatigue right now while envisioning the buff biceps to come later. That’s still making the most of the present moment, in my books.
Personally, I could use a few more of those magical moments in the present, the ones that tempt me to miss dinner and keep playing. Maybe it’s time to find our own Frisbee-equivalent, and bring more of those times into our lives this week.
Excuse me while I head into the HH’s office, lay my head on his lap, and whine just a little.
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Follow up to last week’s challenge: Pay No Attention to What Others Think of You
Did you have an opportunity to brush aside others’ opinions of you this past week?
It’s a mindset that most people in the public eye (viz, celebrities, politicians, pro athletes, etc) must master if they wish to succeed at their chosen professions.
It’s also a skill required by online “influencers” of any stature if they wish to continue posting freely and remain comfortable with having a following.
For me, much of this exercise comes into play when I post on Instagram or Facebook. On those platforms, for some reason, people feel entirely entitled to criticize, berate, put down and generally abuse others, all while remaining anonymous behind a cartoon profile picture of a fox or a ladybug, using assumed names like “EcoCultureDog” or “MamaBearBooBoo.” (No, those aren’t real names–unless my imagination accidentally conjured ones that actually exist. I haven’t checked).
This past week, I reminded myself, once again, that there is no upside when you engage with said anonymous posters online. No matter how rational you think your argument might be, no matter how calm and reasonable you remain in your replies, trolls gonna troll. And there’s really no point allowing them to affect your state of mind (I know, harder done than said).
When I feel bad about online insults hurled my way, I remember another story from the same business mentor who encouraged me to lie on a mall floor for three minutes: if you believe all the positive feedback about how great you are, then you must also believe all the criticism. This is the critical mistake most of us make: we agree with the compliments, so we also believe the criticism must be accurate. When you discount both of them, you can be your own judge of how well you operate.
The final thought on this point is from Theodore Roosevelt, whose statement was made even more famous when quoted by Brene Brown in her viral TED talk.
Here it is:
“It is not the critic who counts: not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles or where the doer of deeds could have done better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood, who strives valiantly . . . . who, at the best, knows, in the end, the triumph of high achievement, and who, at the worst, if he fails, at least he fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who knew neither victory nor defeat.”
To paraphrase Brown in her speech: unless my critic is also in the arena getting her/his ass kicked, I’m not interested in what they have to say. Seems like a good philosophy to me.
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As always, thank you for reading. If you enjoy Be the Dog, please share it with someone else! Or support me and my writing by subscribing with a paid or free subscription. I’ll be eternally grateful either way.
Two good friends of mine just flamed each other on Facebook for no other reason than raging ego. Friends no more. Would such a thing happen in person? Perhaps. Like two teenagers, they saw no consequence to their contention on a keyboard. The Enemy lurks in these places and trolls abound. Good stuff, thank you.