I’ve started and stopped this entry three times. Walked away from my computer and not ‘submitted’. I don’t know why. Words are hard to come by these days. These last few weeks. I remain strangely silent about some things, oddly vociferous about other things, like steam escaping from a covered pot of water. I am looking at my sweet rescue puppy lying with her head gently resting on the arm of my favorite chair. Her sweet lanky legs are tucked up under her, her foxlike tail curled around her legs. Her eyes are wide open, and she’s staring out the window for possible moving things - squirrels, birds, dogs. It’s 9:30 - she wants to go for her morning walk. I’m tired. I’m always tired. My lower back has been hurting for months now. Thankfully my right shoulder is feeling good enough so my arm is not numb, nor burning, nor searing with pain.
I get scared. I don’t like feeling scared. I am out of control, rather, a situation in my life is effectively out of my control, but if I am to be honest (and I always strive to be honest), this situation has been out of my control for the past 20 years. That’s the good news and the bad news. I am a control freak. I want to be in control of certain things. Isn’t that okay? I want to know that my loved ones are all not only safe; I want them happy. I want everybody to be healthy. I don’t want anything bad to happen to them. When bad things happen, I can feel myself looking around for ways to make everything magically ‘better’ for them. Sometimes it actually works - most of the time it doesn’t.
That is MY lesson today. Let go. Just drop it. I’m not god. Far from it. I’m just me. But ‘just’ is a huge task, if you stop and think about it. It’s a lifelong job, and we’re the only ones that can do it for ourselves. Duh. I can’t control my children. I can’t control my husband. Heck, I couldn’t even stop Puppy from barking a minute ago. She just looked at me, put her big paw on my computer screen and barked. Take me for a walk. I know I should. She looks kind of sad, sitting there on the chair, looking out at the world instead of being in it, pulling on her leash, breathing hard as she pushes forward, excited.
She doesn’t need to buy things to make her happy. She doesn’t crave a Speedy 45 Keepall with a shoulder strap to make her happy. She doesn’t want a lake home, or a farm. She doesn’t need a trip to Europe, or another t-shirt or pair of shoes. All she needs is to play, to walk, to run, to eat and to love and be loved. I wonder if I can become more doglike. Drop everything else - even her box of toys is impermanent as she chews them up and we throw them out. I think she would be just as happy with nothing but the empty plastic bottles Hubby gives her when he’s finished drinking his Diet Coke. She body slams him while he’s drinking, and if he’s not looking, she can kind of knock him over. I think it’s hysterical. Do I get that excited over the crinkly sound of a plastic bottle? What would be my crinkly bottle? A cup of coffee? Lunch with a friend? Meditation time?
I want to be like her; drop the rest as I move forward, so I’m not so burdened with all of my controls. I’m dragging everyone with me, and that’s not my job. That’s their job. Who says they even want to go where I’m going? Exactly. I can’t see Meesha expecting anything from me other than to be with her. Her nose is now curled into her tail, and she looks up at me with one eyebrow arched. Are we ready to go for our walk yet? Yes? Okay, that’s good. I’m quite certain she just smiled.