Let’s face it: the last three years have been a shitshow (what? Are you, like one of my former blog readers, surprised that I swear? Well, even though I taught college for 27 years and never once uttered an obscenity . . . hey, I’m human. And besides, this is Substack! We’re allowed here).
Okay, back to the shitshow (see, now I’m just saying it because I can. OMG. How puerile.).
Have you, like I, found the past three years to be, well, a wee bit challenging? You’re not alone. In fact, even if they were the most challenging in your entire life and you can’t believe it’s not over yet–well, you’re still not alone.
While we’ve somehow got to the point where we classify the entire population according to “this side” or “that side,” in reality, we are all human beings who have suffered one way or another because of the pandemic, the lockdowns, the mandates, the current global chaos or simply the (rather novel) “Great Divide” in modern society.
The news blares relentlessly: mental illness at unprecedented rates and epidemic proportions. In Canada, MAID (Medical Assistance in Dying) is at an all-time high with over 10,000 deaths–which is more than 2/3 the Covid deaths in 2021. Inflation? Don’t get me started. People are forced to choose between rent and food. And stress levels (all exacerbated by daily events, as I outlined here) are through the roof (but only if you managed to pay that rent and still have a roof).
So how do we maintain equilibrium in times like these? How do we hold on to our sanity? Is it even possible to retain tranquility and stay centered while living through this kind of shitshow (I’m on a roll–can’t stop myself now)?
Yes, there is a way. And that way is hope.
Presumably it was Dostoyevsky who said, “To live without hope is to cease to live.” I don’t know about you, but I plan to keep on living. Which means grabbing on to that hope jacket asap.
When I look at my dogs (because where else would I find inspiration of this sort?), I see this principle in action every day.
Initially, we intended Zoey as a new sibling for Chaser, our older dog. Chaser had grown up with a loving elder sister (Elsie). The two were inseparable companions. When Elsie died, Chaser moped around for days, lonely and bereaved. Zoey seemed like a perfect solution.
Chaser was perfectly happy to welcome her sister. . . at first.
At first, Chaser welcomed the new pup with enthusiasm. The two romped together in the back yard and I anticipated that they’d grow into similarly close friends. And then: The Nose-Scratch Incident. Zoey leapt up in play, but on the downswing, her paw grazed Chaser’s nose. Well, that was the end of Chaser’s welcome. She renounced the friendship and never looked back.
And that’s where hope came into the picture.
Every morning for the rest of Chaser’s life, Zoey attempted to engage her older sister in play once again. As soon as we were all awake, Zoey would pad over to where Chaser lay beside our bed and begin the ritual.
First, a play bow. Chaser’s response? Look away, close your eyes. So Zoey ramped up the request. She’d begin to bark, full volume, next to Chaser’s head (no one would ever accuse her of subtlety). At this, Chaser might sigh and literally turn away. The final gambit was to howl, miserably, at the frustration of a living dog just inches away, who would not succumb to her charms! At this point, Chaser often hauled herself upright and trudged around to the other side of the bed, or left the room entirely.
And yet, Zoey never gave up. No matter how many times she was rebuffed, no matter how many times Chaser looked askance, no matter how many rejections, she always tried again–and always held onto the hope that TODAY, Chaser might engage with her.
Chaser’s typical response to her sister.
The fact is, for many of us humans, hope keeps us going, too, when everything around us seems hopeless.
When you have hope for a better future, you’re more willing to take positive action to alter circumstances in the present. You tend to keep goals in mind and then act to achieve them. Hope lessens anxiety and reduces the stress in stressful situations.
One of my own flashbulb memories (those “vivid, enduring” memories “associated with a personally significant and emotional event”) occurred on the day of my mother’s funeral. At only 62, she had died after a protracted illness and harrowing stay in the ICU.
At the time, my parents were only months away from their 40th anniversary. Having spent more than half his life with her, my father was, understandably, devastated. As people milled around my parents’ living room after the funeral, the hushed conversations like autumn leaves shifting in the breeze, I glanced across the room at my father.
He reached into the breast pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out the now-grimy handkerchief to once again dab his tears. It struck me how hunched he looked, how his previously robust body, even at 70, had suddenly shrunk to that of an old man in just a few months.
And then his voice, strong and clear, cut through the whispers.
“Today is a horrible day,” he commented to no one in particular, bringing the cloth back up to his eyes and nodding to himself. “But no matter how bad it is today, I know that eventually, it will get better.”
For a few seconds, the entire room remained silent. Then someone walked over and put their arm around his shoulder. Imagine having that kind of self-awareness and presence of mind–on the morning of your beloved wife’s funeral–as a septuagenarian in the midst of grief.
That is the power of hope, my friend.
Of course, hope doesn’t have to work in such lofty ways. We can each exercise hope on the daily, helping us cope with those common challenges that occur in our quotidien lives, just the way Zoey did with Chaser.
One gloomy December morning about a week before Chaser died, we all woke up following the normal morning routine. Zoey made her way over to her older sister, tail wagging in invitation. She play bowed, as usual.
That morning, something different happened. Maybe it was Chaser’s instinct that the end was near. Maybe she had finally overcome her fear of high-energy Zoey. Maybe she just thought, “What the hell.”
This time, she stood up on her shaky, geriatric legs and slid along the foot of the bed. Her tail wagged back, just a little. She lifted one paw, then scooted her muzzle toward Zoey’s mouth and nipped, the way dogs do when they initiate play.
Zoey, for her part, was so ecstatic that she lost it. She started barking with abandon, bum to the floor in an exaggerated play bow, tail whipping so furiously that she almost knocked herself off her feet.
The interaction lasted only a few seconds before Chaser grew tired. But it happened: they played.
Keep the faith, friends. Hang on to hope. You just never know when it will pay off.
Worth waiting four years for that two-second nip. . . .
********************
Follow up to last week’s challenge: Ask for What You Want.
Babies have got it right, don’t they? When they’re hungry, they cry. When they need attention, they cry. When they want to play, they cry.
So, how much did I cry this past week? As it happens, not at all. But metaphorically, well, every day.
Let’s start with dinner prep. Normally, I’m the chef and the HH operates as sous-chef. In other words, I determine what we’ll eat, I find the recipe, and then I tell him what to take out of the fridge and what to chop. He’s a great chopper.
This past week, I reiterated how busy I’d be work-wise. I was not going to cook every meal. We discussed the days I needed off (Monday and Thursday) and I assigned a meal to the HH. A complete meal. No help from me.
Now, in reality, this wasn’t a huge leap for the guy. He already knows how to boil pasta an heat up the defrosted pasta sauce, so that took care of Monday. And for Thursday, all he had to do was take some previously frozen fish out of the freezer, heat it up, and roast some veggies to go with it.
When the appointed days came, I offered no direction. No commentary, nothing. I sat in my office upstairs and continued to work.
About seven times, I was greeted with a call from the kitchen: “Where’s the basil?” or “Which one’s your pasta?” (because it’s special and grain-free) or “Do we have another bottle of olive oil?” Now, these are all ingredients he’s used before. In fact, we’ve been cooking together for close to 25 years, 16 of them in this very house, so one would assume he already knows where to look for a new bottle of olive oil.
Nevertheless, I was pleased that he took care of the process (mostly) on his own. I didn’t have to go downstairs to the kitchen and I didn’t have to lift a finger to prep the meal. I was summoned once everything was ready, I sat down to a bowl of steaming pasta and tomato sauce, and my only effort was to lift the fork and shove food into my mouth.
“So this is what it’s like to have someone else cook for you,” I remarked. “Pretty nice, isn’t it?” I glanced over at the HH, hair disheveled and shirt spattered with tomato stains, and silently smirked.
“That was a lot of work,” he said, looking almost too exhausted to eat his spaghetti. Triumph!
Other requests included asking for him to grab my phone when I was already on the way out the door and didn’t want to go back up to my office; allowing me silence to write this very essay in the morning, while he preoccupied Ms. Zoey; swatting a spider in the bathroom (something I ask for pretty much all the time anyway), and a few other sundry items that I can’t even remember.
I was actually a little surprised at how easily these requests came to me, and how accustomed I am already to asking for certain things. It was the more personal requests–such as “Can I have a hug?” that threw me. The HH is already pretty good at sharing chores, so it felt much more natural to ask for those. But something that supports me personally? Something that might require him to express a modicum of emotion? Well, those were a little more difficult.
********************
Now, over to you. Let me know your thoughts, or answer one of the following questions. I love to hear from you!
Have you ever hoped for something unlikely that later came true? How did you feel about it?
Which requests for help are easy for you? Which are hard? Are you able to ask for whatever you want?
Biggest challenge over the past three years? How did you overcome it (or what are you doing to overcome it now)?
Who cooks in your family? Do you feel like it’s a fair division?
As always, thank you for reading. If you enjoy Be the Dog, please consider recommending it to someone else–or becoming a paid subscriber to support me and my writing. I’d be eternally grateful either way!
My dear, calling the last three years a sh%$show besmirches the good name of sh%$shows.
My wife does the cooking for the most part. I can and will cook anything she can. BUT the division of labor worked out that she is the master at the moment. Most of the cooking investment is, as your husband found, in finding all the ingredients.