Peace Out

Max is a pretty chill dude. He lives a remarkably peaceful existence. No chores, no errands, no taxes, just lazing in the afternoon sun.

Until…10pm. For some reason he loses his cool at 10pm every night. Right when Erin and I sit down on the couch to watch something, Max decides there is no possible scenario for comfort. He paces around, comes over for petting and belly rubs, and goes in and outside as much as caninely possible.

I hate that he is anxious and that I don’t know how to fix it. (I have a hunch he’d love to jump onto the couch with us, but that is not going to happen.) I also don’t love that the best fix for his lack of peacefulness involves me getting up and down all evening when I’d rather sink into the sofa. But I get it. Even the most peaceful existence can have its share of disruption and anxiousness.

This time of year can be wonderful, but I find it to be far from peaceful. This stretch of world history is certainly not peaceful. This season of my own life (and Max’s since he shares the house with us) is far from peaceful with two young children wrecking beautiful chaos all over. 

Even if the chaos is worth it, Max’s extremes of absolute peacefulness and franticness have me thinking harder about peace and how we might hold fast to it. 

Max has moments of what seems to be complete peace. He sprawls out on the cool tile in the middle of the day with no cares or concerns, a full belly, and an assurance of at least an hour of quiet nap time. When I see Max in those moments of peace, it is as if he is teaching me that peace, by nature, exists only in moments. Hopefully one peaceful moment will be followed by another and another, but maybe it is misleading to think of peace as some overarching, abstract thing that rests upon us. Maybe the best I can do is embrace whatever peace I can find in this moment, and then do the same in the next. I can soak up this ray of sunshine while it is here, and then enjoy the cool night air when it comes. 

And Max is teaching me that it is ok if not every moment is totally peaceful. Emergencies, chaos, pain all happen as a part of life and we can resiliently work through them. But when Max is pacing around at 10pm, I really want him to find some sliver of peace to hang onto. Something that will get him through the moment to the blissful release of sleeping through the night. So, when the moment is not peaceful, maybe there is something that can center us until it changes.

For Max, that centering comes sometimes from his bed, a safe space for him to let go of whatever was bothering him. Sometimes it is my attention and petting, loving company to calm nerves and offer compassion. Sometimes it is going outside, getting away from things to reset and refocus. Those are not bad strategies. I find they often work for me too when I get unbalanced or out of whack. Safe spaces, caring company, tools for resetting – all of that brings a slice of peace back into my life when the moment doesn’t provide peace itself.

Max has taught me some seasons or situations are simply not very peaceful, and that is ok. It does not mean peace has slipped out of our grasp. Or if it has slipped, it hasn’t fallen far. Max or I may need real help in situating ourselves in a peaceful state again, but the help is there and the moment has at least a sliver of peace, which can open up into a bigger and bigger slice. When that happens, we might just make it to 11pm when things are calm again and a new peaceful moment feels much more present.

So thank you Max for teaching me how to grasp onto peaceful moments when they are fully here, and how to seek ways to reestablish peace when it is missing. Above all, thank you for being a consistent peaceful presence in my life when everything seems to be flying off the rails.

The More Things Change…

Max and I don’t take as many pictures anymore. Last month we went to an entire festival dedicated to dogs (Pawtoberfest) and this was the only picture I took of him.

He loved the adventure. There were dogs everywhere, interesting smells everywhere, and it was a beautiful day to be outside. My family and I also had a great time. Then, on the way out, Erin asked if I had taken any pictures of Max, and I realized I hadn’t. I got the one above which could be him in any generic park on any day.

As I look back on old photos, a part of me laments that I have gotten out of the practice. When it was just Max and me in a small apartment, I had nothing else to do but take pictures of him. And I’m sure he absolutely loved it.

But things change, and for whatever reason (kids, different work rhythms, less sitting around in the evenings) I take far fewer pictures of the dog now. I’d like to think that I am taking less photos because I am more present in the moment, ignoring my phone and enjoying whatever is happening around me. 

When I think of what Max would say about the change, I don’t think he would agree with my hopeful reasoning. He’d be too nice to outright accuse me of paying less attention to him, and would probably let me know the truth gently – we are in a different stage of life, one that means less pictures and less time solely focused on him.

But Max has also taught me through his consistent presence with me, that such a change is not inherently bad. Max has taught me we can still love each other fully even if there are different ways to express it and less pictures to document it.

Max turned 11 years old this month. I’ve been blessed by his presence in my life since he was just shy of 2 years old. I won’t do the math, but I’m betting that puts us in old married couple relationship stage in dog years. We still have adventures for sure, but Max has taught me that our lives are very different now than they were when we met. 

Again, Max has taught me how such change is good. The changes have brought several new people and new expressions of love into Max’s life. They have brought backyards where he can run around more freely. They have brought new cities to explore. They have brought a never-ending stream of crumbs he can gobble up. 

At the same time, Max has taught me to be more aware of the change, so that we can recapture anything that was valuable which might have slipped through the cracks over those years. Change is good, and so is evaluating the change so that we appreciate, learn, and rediscover what means most in the moment. I may not take as many pictures of Max these days, but we do go to Pawtoberfest, and navigate new forms of chaos, and track down new smells around the neighborhood.

And maybe after today I will be more intentional about watching him be his old, goofy self, and then capture it all like we used to do. Or, if I don’t take the photo, I’ll at least make sure I cherish the moment in whatever new way Max and I have developed to appreciate and learn from each other.

So, thank you Max for growing with me and changing with me. Thank you for filling my photo app for 9 years and counting. And even when the photos grow fewer, thank you for filling my life in new and more complete ways every day.