I hate being cryptic, but sometimes things are going on in my not-on-screen life that I can’t speak about publicly (just wait, my pretties - you’ll hear alllllllll about it soon I’m sure). Last week, was just such a week. It’s not something that will resolve soon, and it IS something that has me shaking my fist at the universe about how ridiculous it is that I have to do so many shitty things TWICE. A difficult and emotional season is imminent; the wave has already crested, and I’m considering what my best tools are to navigate this next bit while still maintaining my sense of self. My sense of joy.
Have you ever read Ross Gay’s Book of Delights? If not, I’ll just hold here a moment whilst you put it on hold at your library (heads up locals, it’s on Hoopla which means EVERYONE can read it right now). I’ve read it twice and think about different bits of it near daily. I just picked up an E-ARC of The Book of (More) Delights, when I thought to myself, maybe this is the answer. I’ve been feeling less than inspired in my writing lately, less than creative in general, but as soon as I considered sharing my own delights, I couldn’t resist pulling out my laptop and writing something to share. On a Tuesday - I don’t like Tuesdays.
If 309 days of burnout recovery have taught me anything, it’s that it’s ok to struggle, flail and fall, as long as I remember how many other things in my life are very good. It’s not Pollyanna, it’s perspective. Life can be hard, but most of the time it’s not only hard. Enter the practice of noticing delights.
If you’ve known me for any time at all, you know about Moses, or as we usually call him, The Mo. Mo is our big lug, our velvet cinderblock, our very best of ones. Mostly boxer with some other things thrown in for spice, Mo has been our clunk-pawed guy for the last nine years. He makes me laugh every, single day, a gift I treasure endlessly.
Since Mo was very small, we trained him to sleep in a crate. Dogs do better with a space all their own where they feel safe, and since I don’t share my bed when I’m sleeping - except the spouse, of course - a crate seemed the best option. Now that Mo is older, he normally puts himself to bed, usually somewhere in the eight o’ clock hour, looking sheepishly over his shoulder at us as he goes, as though needing your own space is something shameful for a dog to feel.
You may also know that Mo deeply loves his ball. He has a particular brand and type that he prefers. It is his treasure. He greets us with it at the door; he chews it contemplatively as he drifts off to sleep; he drops it down the stairs and waits for us to toss it back up to him. His love is deep, fierce, and limitless when it comes to enjoying his ball.
Both of these things, Mo and his ball, delight me, but they aren’t the full story of the delight I want to share. Most nights, when Mo puts himself to bed in his crate, which lives in our bedroom, his ball is also in the room. Mo has a little corner where he keeps his things - two identical balls and two bones - when he isn’t using them. I kid you not when I tell you he puts them away there, and when he wants them from anywhere else in the house, he will run upstairs and grab one to take with him wherever he chooses to be. This process also delights me, but it’s also not what I came here to talk about.
Here is my big delight. Every morning when I let Mo out of his crate for breakfast and a walk, he emerges slowly, doing some canine yoga and big yawns, snuffling and wagging and smelling of fritos, as one does. He departs the dressing area and ambles into the bedroom. Then his ears go up and his body tenses. He surveys the room until he see what he’s looking for, and finally he races forward and — POUNCE!! If you’ve ever seen a lion playing, you have an idea of Mo’s pounce. It’s utterly ebullient, hilariously goofy, maniacally intense, and my absolute favorite part of every single morning.
Mo never gets tired of reuniting with his ball after a night away (sure, he could take it to his crate but he never does) , and I never tire of watching his exuberantly gleeful, inelegant leap onto his long lost friend. I belly laugh every day - good days, bad days, and unknown future days. This particular morning tableau never gets old or stale. I’ll watch it thousands more times and be just as delighted in every one.
There are many days that I don’t look forward to what’s ahead. Sometimes there are days I dread, but usually my mornings look very much the same, one following another in a way that makes it easy to forget that time is passing and very, very finite. Mornings with Mo remind me that you don’t have to look very hard to find your first delight of the day, and when you do find it, it’s best to pounce upon it with all the fierce enthusiasm you can muster, take it to breakfast and start your day with a nice walk. It’s ok to do this every day just because it brings you joy, in fact, it’s worth doing simply because it brings you joy without trying to explain or justify that feeling to anyone else.
I believe in the power of a good dog, but even more I believe in the thread of delight that I find whenever I spend time with Mo. Whether life zigs or zags, my slinky brindle eel boy, who just put himself to bed after trying to climb onto my keyboard, will wake up tomorrow anticipating that at least the joy of his well-loved friend awaits him.
I aspire to anticipate that each day will hold good things as confidently as Moses does. And maybe, I’m starting to feel the same.