Category Archives: Life Rehab

Fill Your Journey with Joy!

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I took Thursday off from blogging, planning to make a post on Friday morning.  But then, on Friday, I left the house at 6:30 am and didn’t come back until 9:30 pm.  I slept fitfully that night, and woke up Saturday with a fever and upset stomach.  I spent the first half of the day in bed, then moved to the couch to sleep for the afternoon, and at some point in the evening, watched a bit of Grey’s Anatomy Season Two that I got from the library last week, even though it seemed a bit too bright and loud.  Because I couldn’t keep anything down all day, I was also going through an unplanned caffeine detox.

Photo by Rachel Titiriga

I feel better today, weak and hollowed out, but better. Along with eating, I couldn’t write or read yesterday.  It was hard to take a whole weekend day “off” when I hadn’t gotten any of my own work done on Thursday or Friday either.  Not only had I missed blogging, but I am again a full week behind in my Ordinary Courage class, with only one week left, laundry needs done, and the pile of receipts and bills on my desk remind me that I still haven’t balanced the checkbook this month.

There isn’t enough time. Whenever my nieces complain that they are bored or I hear other people talk about how they don’t want to retire because “what would I do all day?,” I grit my teeth and want to scream.  There is so much I want to do, and I want to do it all, NOW.  Which, in part, is why I ended up sick. It starts with my inability to pace myself. I push because there is so much I want, and I don’t listen to myself or pay attention to what I need, don’t care for myself when I am doing too much.

And right now, the situation is more intense. I am trying to maintain a full work life–you know, they call it “full time” for a reason.  If you have such a job, it takes up all of your time.  You are either working it directly or preparing for it or cleaning up after it or resting up from/for it.  Yes, you might have evenings and weekends away, but I find that those are spent in recovery or preparation. Making sure we have clean clothes and groceries, the dogs are cared for, we aren’t defaulting on our bills, and we see our family and friends enough that they’ll remember what we look like is all I can manage on my “time off.” Add to that my my life-rehab, and my desire for a full creative life.  How is this ever going to work?

When my book group met with author Laura Resau on Friday night, it was one of the questions I asked her.  She’d been an academic, a graduate student and teacher, who eventually quit to write full time.  A few other people in my group are writers, one of them who has published multiple books but maintains a “day job.”  I asked Laura what the tipping point was for her, when she gave up the other paid work to write for a living/life.  It’s not so important how she answered the specific question, when that was for her or why, but rather that in answering, she reinforced that you take the steps, no matter how small, you start and keep going, keep showing up, and maintain that faith and trust, that deep knowing, that this is what you want, what you should do, that it is right and true.

Wings I noticed a shift in myself as a writer with my question to her.  As a more immature practitioner, if I had the opportunity to ask, the questions were always about “How do I get published?” Now I want to know, “How do you give yourself permission to write, to be a writer full time?” Maybe for other writers, the question really is how to publish.  For me, it’s about a whole life. It’s not just that I need to write and submit, but that I need to learn how to live, and the writing is part of the process.  I can share during, and then when I figure out some stuff, I can polish and publish it, share it with others who need the encouragement and resources.

Laura signed my copy of her book, The Queen of Water, “Fill your writing journey with joy!”  Today, feeling weak, hollowed out, and tired, with so much to catch up on and do, I am hopeful, committed to showing up, but also learning to pace myself, learning to live full time, with joy, and sharing the process.

Picture by Erik Sagen

What I Learned from Obi

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“If we learn to open our hearts, anyone, including the people who drive us crazy, can be our teacher.” ― Pema Chödrön

Anyone can be our teacher, even a dog.

Two years ago today, we had to let Obi go.  Nine months earlier, he had been diagnosed with t-cell multicentric lymphoma, a treatable but incurable canine cancer.  We’d had Obi since he was eleven weeks old and he was our first dog.  That experience, from the moment our vet spoke the words “I’m so sorry, but it’s lymphoma” until he was gone, planted the seed for the life-rehab I am doing now.  I couldn’t stand for such an amazing being to have lived and loved, then suffered and died without it having an impact.  I had to change my life, otherwise it was like I was saying none of that mattered, that he didn’t matter.

Obi was my teacher, in both his life and his death.  Here’s some of what I learned from him:

Most of what you fear isn’t worth the energy, isn’t even real. Obi never outgrew was his fear of loud noises: fireworks, gunshots, wind and thunder, fans and hair dryers. Sometimes he would get himself so worked up, panting and shaking, that his teeth would chatter. Watching his fear take him over when I knew there wasn’t anything real to worry about, I learned to see that my own fears were monsters created by my own imagination, tragedies written and cast by me.  I became aware of how and where I was generating my own suffering.

Picture by Cubby

Make friends with everyone. This was Obi’s strategy about life: when you meet someone new, try to be friends, and stay friends, and the more friends you have (people, dogs, cats, foxes, birds, etc.), the better. He was all about the love. I learned from him that things just go better if you can make someone your friend.  Once they are your friend, you can relax, not worry or be afraid or on guard. You can just hang out in the backyard or look out the window together or cuddle, and everything will be good.

This moment is all there is, and it is more than enough. I have learned this from all my dogs, actually.  They absolutely and always live in the present moment.  To them, there is nothing better than what is happening right now.  My dogs have taken thousands of walks, and yet every time I suggest one, they act like they just won the doggy lottery.  They dance for their breakfast, even though I feed them the same thing every day.  When I come home, even if I was only gone for an hour, they act like we haven’t seen each other in years, wiggling and jumping and kissing, sometimes almost knocking me over with their joy.

None of us knows how much time we have, so make the most of it. One reason we rescued a mixed breed dog is because they are supposed to live longer, have fewer health problems.  And when we took Obi to the vet to have a small lump in his shoulder checked–not even worried about it enough to make a special trip, but rather “since we are here, why not check that too”–Obi had just turned seven years old, and as far as we knew, was super healthy, in the prime of his life.  Nine months later, he was gone.  We just never know what is around the corner, what will happen tomorrow.  The nine months we had with Obi when we knew he would be gone soon were intense and amazing.  We did all of his favorite things and spent as much time together as we could. I was right there with him, in those moments, no matter how sad or scary, and it was worth it, every minute, including the last one.

To live in this world
you must be able
to do three things:
to love what is mortal;
to hold it
against your bones knowing
your own life depends on it;
and, when the time comes to let it go,
to let it go.
~Mary Oliver

There is a “This I Believe” essay called “We’re Getting Another Dog.”  It is so good, so right. It explains why Obi, as special as he is and as sad as his loss has left me, wasn’t the only dog, and explains why what Obi ultimately taught us is that there will always be another dog.  It’s okay to let go and do it again, even as your heart is breaking.

“Because getting another dog is the decision to run full bore towards love and commitment. It’s knowing that in 8, 10, 12 years, FOR SURE that dog is going to die and you’re going to be writhing in pain again…And even knowing how devastating that loss is going to be, even though it makes you sick to just think about it, you CAN’T WAIT to do it again…I believe that getting another dog is a physical act of pure hope and resilience. It’s a statement that I can and will bounce back from the worst of it…Getting another dog is believing in life and the real meaning of it. I can’t think of any other decision I have made in my lifetime in the name of love with such an inevitably painful outcome…Getting another dog is an act of unconditional optimism. It’s seeing the goodness and being grateful for all the blessings…Knowing this simple truth makes me appreciate all I have at this moment and makes it easier to face all the inevitable grief that is part of life.”