8. Zoey at the Park (and, Well, Everywhere): Express Unbridled Enthusiasm
When we were kids, my younger sister wanted to do everything with me. I suppose this was due in part to our mother’s chronic depression, which meant she was, by the very nature of her condition, a negligent parent.
So, I took up the mantle and more or less parented my sister until we were both in our teens. When I turned 18 and went away to college, my sister was on her own and, to some extent, became a parent to our mom.
One thing that relationship conferred was an extreme (dare I say, dysfunctional?) closeness between us. I really did feel as if she were my responsibility, but at the same time, thoroughly enjoyed our time together and the little in-jokes and intimate moments we experienced because we “got” each other when no one else did.
However, that closeness never prevented me from feeling embarrassed and awkward when my sister invariably wanted to be there, in person, wherever I went–including with my friends.
I can recall one particularly mortifying moment when I was around nine or ten. My three best buddies from our neighborhood and I were holed up in our “clubhouse” (the basement cedar closet that was big enough for all of us to hunker down in the semi-darkness and bond in a quasi-Stand By Me group meeting).
Suddenly, in the midst of our giggles and shared secrets, we were disturbed by a timid knock on the door. It was my sister, alone as usual, with nothing to do. She wanted in.
“Okay, well, you have to pass the initiation,” JoAnn piped up (bless her heart).. “Everyone has to make up a joke and if we don’t guess the punchline, you can come in.”
My sister, barely five years old at the time, didn’t hesitate. “I’ve got it!” she yelled back.
The door swung open and she stood in the hallway, still in pyjamas.
“Okay, what’s the joke?” I asked.
“What did the cowboy say to the human?” She paused for effect as we all remained silent. Then she let the punchline rip: “Wanna come and live with me?”
Of course we all erupted in hysterical laughter, mostly because to us, this “joke” made no sense at all (this was decades before Brokeback Mountain came on the scene, remember). All I knew was that I was mortified, more for my sister than for myself. And that my friends were laughing not with her, but at her.
She, on the other hand, was thrilled she could join the clubhouse.
I often think that dogs have that same childlike lack of self=consciousness. No matter how silly they look or how much people laugh at them, they are fine with it all; they take their position in stride, they accept their own limitations, and they continue to squeeze every second of fullness out of life.
With Zoey, this trait manifests as her unmitigated enthusiasm for, well, just about everything.
It’s one thing when we’re at home. Here, we expect the morning writhe-fest as she wiggles her way across the bedroom carpet on her back, grunting and snorting. Or when I attempt to work and she trots into the office, rubber barbell in her mouth, tail wagging, panting through her teeth in an effort to cajole me into play. Or at mealtime whe she seems incapable of staying “out of the kitchen” while I prep the food, instead inching her way onto the kitchen tiles while moaning, yipping, whining and all-out barking at me to hurry the F up. Because, FOOD.
This unbridled enthusiasm for food is evident at other times throughout the day, particularly when on a walk as I attempt to train her to listen and cross the street only on command. Our regular routine is to reach the curb, where I instruct Zoey to “sit.” She does, bum wiggling in anticipation and tail swishing across the sidewalk. She knows what awaits her.
Why did the Zoey cross the road? To get to the treat on the other side, of course!
Once she’s safely on the opposite curb, I again instruct her to sit and catch up as quickly as I can, then dispense the reward. I have no doubt that to Zoey, the four-second interlude between the moment her rear hits the curb and when I catch up, treat in hand, feels like eternity.
Her face is animated with excitement, she can barely keep her body grounded, she is overcome with the thrill of the moment as she emits tiny yips in anticipation. She can barely hold herself back from grabbing my entire hand along with the treat, she’s so enthused.
Normally, the hubs and I find Zoey’s fervor for food rather entertaining. We point out her quirks to each other and have a good laugh (though, to be fair, we are definitely laughing at her and not with her).
But the other morning, as we rounded the corner at our favorite morning destination–the empty field behind the local high school–we encountered something different: a human couple playing with their own dog, a sweet golden named Kobe. We’d seen them once before, but Zoey had been a mere pup, when her enthusiasm could be dismissed as an excess of youthful energy.
While Kobe remained calm and attentive to her owners, Zoey went ballistic. Another dog! A ball! HUMANS!! The opportunity for play! THE OPPORTUNITY FOR TREATS!!
It was all too much for her, and she lost it. She barked vociferously while jumping up and down–all still on the leash–and tugged toward the people and dog. The disdain in their eyes (even Kobe’s) was clear.
I did my best to squelch the unbridled ardor, I really did. But Zoey was having none of it.
“Uh, we’re just going,” the man said (funny, isn’t it, how we know dogs’ names, but not their owners’ names?). “Have a nice day.”
And with that, all three were gone, leaving me with Zoey and her excess energy.
“Well, Zoey, looks like you’ll have to play with just me today,” I said in apology. I unhooked the leash and let her run free.
“No problem, Mum!” Her behavior spoke to me as clearly as if she’d uttered the words. “It’s totally cool, just the two of us. This is SO. MUCH. FUN!!!”
And with that, she was off–exploring the bushes, jumping down from the top stair, chasing plastic bottles–all with unmitigated, unconstrained, absolute enthusiasm for every new leaf, every stride across the grass, every burst of air through her lungs.
She was thrilled to be outside, moving, alive. And nothing could squelch that zeal.
“Look Mum! I can speak when you ask me! It’s fun! It’s loud! I LOVE IT!!!”
How about we borrow some of that positive energy this week? I’ll attempt to approach every activity with enthusiasm. And when I feel enthusiastic, well, I’ll amplify the feeling as much as I possibly can.
WE GET TO BE ENTHUSIASTIC!!!! LET’S DO IT!!!!!! ARE YOU WITH ME??!!!!
Last week’s challenge: Harness the power of habit. How did it go?
Ah, deep breathing! Such a great habit to develop. But did I do it?
Ever since I started qi gong in the mornings, it’s pretty easy to sneak in at least three deep breaths during the practice (since qi gong is basically slow, graceful movements; stretching; and deep breathing. Can’t go wrong there).
On the other hand, two other instances during the day proved challenging. I realized after a couple of days that I wasn’t managing it on my own, simply by vowing to “remember.”
So I took another look at B.J. Fogg’s Tiny Habits. He refers to key conditions necessary for a new habit to form, with the acronym MAP: motivation, ability and prompt.
No doubt I was motivated to get this done–after all, I knew I’d have to come back here and report my progress.
Considering ability, Fogg doesn’t mean just “are you physically capable of doing this?”. He believes the task must also be so easy to accomplish that you’d feel silly not doing it. For instance, he relates how his quest to floss his teeth every day began by flossing a single tooth. Who can’t manage that?
Well, when it comes to breathing–what could be easier? I certainly had no excuses there. And three breaths takes all of 19 to 22 seconds in my case (yes, this nerd actually timed it). Talk about easy!
So, I figured, what tripped me up must have been the final criterion: prompt. Fogg suggests “hooking” your habit onto something else that will remind you to do it. I’d already accomplished this feat in the past, when I added “filling the kettle” to my final kitchen routine, right after “wipe the counters.” Once I designated filling the kettle as my final kitchen chore, it became totally habitual, just part of the existing series of steps. And I didn’t forget, because the prompt–wiping the counters–was already established. .
In this case, I decided on two things. First, I’d begin my day with the deep breaths, even before I got out of bed. I mean, I’m lying there, still, anyway. I’m allowing my body to wake up. Surely, I’d have 19 seconds to spare in the morning.
The final prompt was eating dinner. As a holistic nutritionist, I already know that taking a few deep, belly breaths before meals allows your body to switch from sympathetic to parasympathetic nervous systems, which is the body’s preferred state to properly digest food; anxious, stressed-out people don’t digest well (which might explain why virtually everyone I know has some sort of digestive issues).
So I made the evening meal my final prompt. Before I can put food into my mouth—three deep breaths.
Did it work? Eventually, yes. The first couple of days, I forgot one or the other. But once the habit was embedded in my mind, it became easier and easier. Three deep breaths, three times a day–you’d think I’d be a zen mistress by now. (Okay, maybe not . . . . but working on it).
Now, over to you:
Have you ever successfully introduced a new habit in a relatively short period of time? How about over a longer period?
What’s the toughest new habit you ever established?
What’s one habit you’d love to bring into your life right now? Why?