Day of Rest

I have learned a lot from my dogs about rest and play. This is most likely because everything dogs ever do is either play or rest. Think about it.

Walking = Play
Eating = Play
Cuddling or Petting = Rest
Waiting = Rest
Training = Play
Work = Play
Riding in the Car = Rest or Play, it depends
Rest = Rest
Play = Play

Rest and play, play and rest, rinse and repeat. This is the entire life of a dog. They do not waste their time on things like thinking about the past or future. It is always now for a dog.

Dogs are utterly comfortable in their own skin and fur. They would never ask “does this collar make me look fat?” or turn down an extra treat because they feel bad about their thighs. They don’t pay someone to dye the white hair that’s developed as they’ve gotten older, they don’t have anything waxed or painted or sculpted (unless the stupid humans decide their ears should be a different shape), and they don’t cover anything up. In fact, they are happy to walk around basically naked, wearing the exact same thing every day with no concern for fashion.

Dexter of the gray hair, resting after playing.

They make due with what is, are perfectly and absolutely happy with it, whatever. A small rug or pile of dirty laundry or spot of dirt and grass can act as an awesome bed, a sock or empty water bottle or stick make great toys, and walking everywhere barefooted is the perfect mode of transportation. A tennis ball found left at the dog park or frisbee abandoned on the beach are the best thing e v e r. That walk that you’ve taken or food you’ve eaten twice a day every day of your life is cause for celebration, every time.

Dexter and Sam know how to play.

Dogs don’t have regrets or guilt or shame. They typically don’t worry about what someone will think about them or wonder if they are cool enough. If they feel any bad feelings, it’s only for a brief moment and then it’s over, and straight back to rest or play. They don’t dwell on things, obsess or agonize, think about how they wish they’d done better, judging and bullying and smashing themselves to bits.

Dogs are models of self-love and self-care, having a sense of the natural rhythm of a day, the best and right mix of play and rest. Even when it can be annoying to be working and have my dogs bugging me for attention or a play break or a walk, I have learned to trust their instincts, to take the break they request. They usually know better than I do that it’s time. They ask for what they want, are who they are, and I want to be more like them.

Sam telling me it’s time for a break.

I’m in this strange space, this odd state today. It feels a bit like being hungover or jet lagged. I think it’s actually World Domination Summit love lag, a possibility hangover accompanied by waves of wonder and magic aftershocks that has brought about a sabbath, a day of rest that fell midweek.

I’m exhausted, existing in a whole other time zone, another reality. All I could manage today was walking the dogs, a shower, eating, and a long nap. This kind of day used to send me into fits. I’d power past the tired and overwhelm, keep working anyway, to the point of collapse or illness, chanting “have to, should, must, already wasted too much time.” I’d drag myself, push and pull and bully and smash myself to bits to get from this moment to the next, not stopping until I’d reached the goal, which I never did because I was always adding more things, having more ideas, creating more tasks for myself.

which way is up?

Be here now.
Be someplace else later.
Is that so complicated?
~Josh Pais (by way of Danielle LaPorte)

This goal thinking, this endless to-do list, this rush toward the real thing, the important moment, the big accomplishment, the grasping and reaching is exactly the thing that wastes time. It denies this moment, the one I’m in now. Denies my need for rest, to go more slowly, to ruminate and contemplate, to enjoy the ride. It says “hurry up” when I want to lollygag, fool around, dawdle. It rushes to get somewhere else when I long to be here, now.

So for today, I’m allowing myself to take it easy, to go slow, to accept that even if it means I miss out on something, it’s okay. Because what I definitely won’t miss is this moment. It’s all there is, and that’s such a gift, because in this moment there is the sound of the ocean and bird song, sun and a light breeze, two soft and sleepy dogs resting at my feet, my boy on his way to the store to buy vanilla ice cream to go with the peach cobbler he made while I napped, the tap of my finger on the keys and words to string together, and you, dear reader, to tell all this to. There is love and there is time, and that’s more than enough.