Mindfulness
It’s been almost 6 months since I lost my faithful companion, Charlie. We got him when he was just 4 years old. With the face of a dachshund and a body like Arnold Schwarzenegger (Corgi), he was the most unusual dog I’d seen.
I’m afraid it was love at first sight. This little dog had me trained within days to do as I was instructed. There was no doubt who was the boss in this relationship.
His former owners allowed him to wander at will. They had good access to a nearby wood, and he was used to exploring as and when he chose.
Larry, my other half, was working in Southern Indiana at the time we adopted Charlie. It was Larry who persuaded me to take Charlie.
I’d never wanted a pet. My memories of dogs from my childhood never ended well, and I was not about to put my head in that noose again. However, when Larry sent me a photo of a cute dog decked out with a bandana around his neck, my resolve weakened.
Charlie became a fixture in our lives very quickly. To begin with, he was quite happy to spend time on his own, but as he got used to us, his need for human interaction increased.
Dog Walking
He loved being outside. Larry worked at a small college surrounded by woods, so Charlie was in his element. His likable canine personality proved to be a big hit among those on campus. Everyone knew him by name, and he delighted in welcoming their attention.
A quick walk was never part of his agenda. Sniffing and peeing every two minutes was required. Meeting new human or dog friends also took priority. As I said earlier, he had me trained within days of our meeting.
One of the things that I loved doing with Charlie was taking him for a walk on a nearby trail. As we neared the trail, he would whimper and whine with excitement. He knew exactly where he was going.
Once he was out of the car, he would meander with complete freedom. I learned a lot from Charlie in those walks. It was never about exercise or going from A to B.
It didn’t matter to him whether we had 5 minutes or an hour. Time didn’t exist in his world. We were there to take it all in.
If there was a lesson to be learned, it was mindfulness. As I watched Charlie sniff and bless every blade of grass, I realised just how trapped I was in a particular mindset. It was the usual mindset that had captivated me for years.
A hike for me was exercise and getting to some high point as a goal. I loved being outside, but outside had its purpose.
I’d never thought of the natural world in any particular sense. Larry, of course, as a Botanist, had a very different approach. Each plant was analysed and photographically recorded. Every plant might be a slight exaggeration, but the amount of time he spent with the plants he homed in on made it feel like an eternity.
By nature, I’m frenetic. I tend to want to rush to the finish line. If something takes my interest, I usually meet it with a casual glance and move on.
Larry’s obsession with plant life, as you can imagine, put the brakes on my usual pace. His fascination with plants that I probably would’ve trod on with complete disregard was something I’d never had to deal with before.
Most of the people I knew were like me, blind to plants. We appreciated them in the universal sense, but never in the particular.
Now, my life was populated with two animals who were determined to change my point of view, and it worked. At first, my attempts to move both the human and the canine were met by less than enthusiastic responses. The human would ignore the pacing, while the canine was completely oblivious to whatever signal I was trying to communicate.
A keen photographer of nature, Larry would prostrate himself on the ground to get a better shot. The whole process took more time than I thought it was worth. Charlie’s sensory need to satisfy his curiosity was no less time-consuming. Both the human and the dog were completely immersed in the world around them, while I was either looking at my messages or counting down the seconds.
Given that I was the one who was in the minority, the pressure was on me to acquiesce. I fought a hard battle, but in the end, I surrendered. It was not easy for me to switch off the internal clock that had me rushing from one place to another and would not be silenced.
The idea of stopping and looking around was a foreign concept to one who is goal oriented. They wore me down with their mindfulness.
The first sign that I was changing came when we moved to the desert. My epiphany came when there was a super bloom. It was one of those times, after a very wet winter, that the desert floor was covered with flowers.
I rushed from one flower to the next in awe of the natural world. The once barren, dry environment I was used to seeing had changed, and its transformation had a profound effect on me.
As I began to stop and look around me, I realised what I’d been missing. Life isn’t about goals; life is about living. And, living means being present in where you find yourself.
Charlie’s ambling from one pee spot to another was a perfect engagement with the natural world. He allowed his senses to guide him, and not his internal clock. As the mindful ones’ influence worked its magic on me, I was grateful for their gift of sight.
Now, I see the natural world differently. I’m mindful of where I am, and no longer blind to its wonder.
