Every morning, after I bring the horses into the barn, I let loose the dogs so we can walk the big pasture together. Well, I walk. The dogs do their own versions of frenzied running, smell investigation, and general roaming. We are together, but in a chaos theory sort of way. I feel safe letting them go like that. The pasture is fully and securely fenced and they know the space, probably better than I do. Still, I keep an eye on them, calling out for the clever one (read: Monroe) who has been out of sight a bit too long. I hold in my head that I am in charge and responsible for the entire experience and I walk that way; marching.
I do that in life, too, and I don’t want to so much anymore. I don’t want to be in charge and responsible for entire experiences. I only want to be in charge of my own mental space and experience. Even that is too big a statement. I don’t want to be in charge. I want to play, to show interest, to ask questions. Like the damn dogs. Every day we walk the same pasture, but they tackle it like it’s an entirely new experience and it is: New smells, animals that have crossed through, dirt turned over. Such new information!
This morning I didn’t walk the dogs; I let myself loose along with them. I meandered. I stopped and pulled ivy from trees. I watched a heron swoop in and pluck a frog from the pond. I felt like a great kindness had happened, a deep peace of mind because I stopped being responsible and just lived a moment as it was. And then Sophie and Marco walked us all home.