Why, God, why can’t I just sleep in?
My ears wake to a familiar seagull-like whine. I try not to move in bed, as if my complete stillness can make it go away. Nonetheless, the whine continues.
My step-dog Elvis and his strict wake-up time is the cause of much grief in my world. Say there was a thunderstorm for three hours overnight that felt like God was shining a faulty fluorescent light. And, say Elvis was awake in our bedroom for all those hours. He will still wake up at the same time.
I grumble and melt out of bed. I let the dogs outside and wipe them down. They do not get any good morning pets. My sympathy for them has worn thin like a thousand thousand years of waves wearing a boulder into sand. A familiar, tired, anger meets me.
And familiar thoughts, too. What about putting the dogs in the garage at night? Why do we have two dogs anyway? Or we could ventilate our bedroom for dog breath, and hang their crates up on the ceiling at night. That’ll teach them.
My eyes turn to slits looking at them. This is my day off to galavant around with my wife. Now they ruined it.
I pull out some hotpads and heat my water for coffee.
A Speak and Spell and Weeping Angels
The cover of a book I’m reading, called Becoming Supernatural, pops in my head. It’s a book about meditation and neuroscience. My brain stews for a few minutes. What’s the link between that and my dog dilemma? I strum my fingers on the counter. The answer hits me like a baseball bat. Duh! I know what’s going on.
Every time I’m angry at Elvis, I’m reliving a past anger loop. Then I’m stuck in resentful dog-parent mode the rest of the day. It’s like my anger is zapping away all my glorious potential. Kinda like a Weeping Angel, if you know about Dr. Who.
And every time I’m angry, I don’t give the dogs love and throw hot pads at them. I know, it’s not polite. In the book, the author calls what I’m doing the “familiar future.” I think of my “familiar future” like a Speak and Spell. Like I’m typing in the same word (hotpad) every time I have a similar emotion to a past one (anger).
I look down at my stack of hotpads and wonder. How can I change? How can I type in a new word? I don’t want to throw these resentful frisbees at my dogs on my day off. I don’t want to be angry today.
I come up with a plan.
I’m gonna take the dogs for a walk.
I get my coffee in a travel mug and place it in the car. I strap on my doggy fanny pack with treats. I carry Elvis to the car.
Why do I carry him to the car, you ask? Good question! Elvis will never walk without or away from his mom willingly. No amount of treats will lure him. (I’ve tried.) So, the only way I can walk him is to
1) Drive in a straight line away from the house, park, and
2) Walk back towards it.
Why? Seeing his momma again is the ultimate treat. It’s dangerous, though. If he gets turned around or confused in any way, he stops. (It happened.) And I am left carrying a seventeen pound dog. (That’s heavier than it seems.)
I drive Elvis and I nine blocks away, with one turn. Yes, I’m living dangerously today. I get us and my mug of coffee out of the car, and Elvis pulls towards home. My lower back breathes a sigh of relief.
In the middle of the first block, I try my new tactic.
We stop. Usually this is dangerous, because he can lose direction. I throw Elvis two treats. Then, I take a sip of coffee then take a long smell of the sweet summer-morning air. It’s like I’m programming the words “coffee” and “dog walk” into my Speak and Spell.
“Good boy! Alright, let’s go!” I encourage him. I take a couple steps forward. He starts walking. Thank God!
Blocks two through five we enjoy our treats, hostas in bloom, and crunching silver maple bark.
Block six. I throw two treats, and Elvis does not go for them. He looks around, whining. Oh, shit. He’s lost. I slug some coffee. Time for drastic measures.
“Hey buddy! Ready to go see your momma? Let’s go home?!” I plead.
I start walk-running. He slugs behind me. This is usually the end. I have about 100 feet, max. Gotta make every foot count.
Before my heart sinks into my shoes, I get to the next corner and make the one turn. Elvis canters past me to take the lead. All the way home.
His momma meets us at the door. I switch out dogs to the one who will walk with me. My chiweenie and I have our treats while we stroll back to the car.
And I enjoy the rest of my day. No pot-holders necessary.
QUOTE: Inspired by Deb Cummins Stellato of The Think Good Company
Life is a daring adventure, or nothing at all. - Helen Keller Life is a daring adventure, or yesterday’s news. - Heidi Esther
The SoulJourner QUESTion
The book: Becoming Supernatural by Dr. Joe Dispenza
The next time you say to yourself “Great, here we go again,” let it be a signal to you. To take a break and breathe. Yes, my beautiful friend, it’s time to address the Weeping Angels and the words you’re using in your Speak and Spell. It’s time to take back your present moment living!
Journal or talk it out. Ask yourself these questions:
- Am I letting my past emotions rob me of focusing on this specific situation?
- Am I getting ready to do or say something that I’ve done before, too? (this was my pot-holder moment)
- Instead of reacting the same way, what can I try that is completely unexpected, that will break me free from the chains of past emotions? Can I apologize? Do I have to walk away? Do I need to take care of myself in some way that I’m neglecting?
- How can I show myself or others some forgiveness, compassion, and love?
