It’s a recent weekday morning, and Boomer the dog and I are back from our run. I’m in that typical transitional space of relaxed and happy fatigue mixed with the encroaching stress of getting to the office.
Boomer has happily positioned himself squarely on the heated tile floor in front of the bathroom sink, a place that directly impedes my morning ritual. I give him a gentle shove with my foot along with a friendly admonishment to get out of the way, but he simply blinks his warm, dark eyes at me and remains steadfast. I sigh, marveling at his confident contentment, and give up. The rest of my ablutions are completed with me standing splay-legged at the sink so as not to disturb or step on him. I marvel at Boomer’s resolute trust in me. He is either unflaggingly assured that I won’t step on him or cheerfully optimistic that if I do, it won’t hurt.
I could take a lesson from that dog. He is happy, confident, unflappable, and self-assured despite a desperate, life-on-the-streets background that would wither a less resilient canine. He harbors no concern about his lovability, his current status, or his future prospects, and he manifests a Zen-like ability to live in the moment.
I envy Boomer. I’m self-confident, but I can’t say that my self esteem is up to par. When I reflect on any personal creation or event, it is always tempered by the knowledge that someone else would have done it more quickly and more successfully. I am aware that I founded what is now a thriving, ten-attorney law firm, but I discount its success. My husband and I raised three smart, ambitious, honest, and kind young men but I’m convinced that it was despite my mothering of them not because of it. In two weeks, I’ll run a half-marathon, but I’ll be largely dissatisfied with my finish time. My book, Daily, is going to the publisher shortly, but I already view its 250 pages with a critical eye.
But when it comes to daily exercise, it’s hard for me to find fault. I suppose I could lift weights more often, and I could run faster and longer on weekday mornings. But at least I have an unwavering confidence that when I wake up tomorrow, I’ll dress for the outdoors and lace up running shoes. I maintain an unfaltering trust that my legs will carry me through the distance and route that I select and that I will arrive home, upbeat and hopeful about what the day will bring. I am positive that I won’t skip a workout and substitute a latte and scone at the coffee shop.
So maybe I should take a page from Boomer’s playbook. I could grab a pillow, lay on the heated tile floor for a while, and practice a little mindfulness. Until, that is, a wet dog nose shoves itself into my neck and reminds me that it’s time for breakfast.