Hope and sadness are strange bedfellows. I struggle with depression this time of year. The dark weather drags down my inner enthusiast. Autumn stirs memory and loneliness.
What’s that about? Some neurotransmitter loss? Not enough fun? Too much fun? Longing for the sun to shine? Longing for a call from my mother? Expectations too high? Missing my brother? Wanting more belonging?
It’s harder to get out when it’s damp and dark. Even my dogs get forlorn. Their noses hit the bed and their eyes roll up in their heads.
Despair weakens me. I feel helpless to change my life, let alone the world. But I know better: focus on hope. When I’m down, I find that just taking the next step is powerful. Doing footwork cures the blues. Enough steps and pretty soon you’re dancing.
Eckharte Tolle says: “Any action is often better than no action, especially if you have been stuck in an unhappy situation for a long time. If it is a mistake at least you learn something… If you remain stuck, you learn nothing… Don’t let the fear rise up into your mind. Use the power of Now. Fear cannot prevail against it.”
So, last week I took a step. I really didn’t want to fall in love again. He was short and old with fuzzy hair. But, I let Oliver stay at my house. I was shocked at the longing I felt the next day after he was gone. I missed him so much.
He really wasn’t my type, so I was really surprised. I sure didn’t think such a short male with long whiskers would grab my heart. I just thought it would be a worthy experiment to take care of another dog.
I never expected to get so obsessed. I guess that’s is how love is. Oliver stood half the day staring out at my yard. He hardly sat down and when he went to the garden, he almost always fell down the steps. Oliver was blind. I followed him around in between dish washing and emails. I broke a sweat when I couldn’t find him. Where was Oliver?
He was almost always out sniffing thorny rose bushes or bumping into trees. I worried. What if he hurt himself? So, grasping for courage, I grabbed the leashes and took both of my pooches and Oliver for a walk. I had to try it. Water bottle, cell phone, three leashes and doggie bags to boot. Maybe he needed to move, I thought. I was told he might not walk much, but I wanted to try.
Well, Oliver jogged at the speed of light, like an Olympian, while the rest of us tried to keep up. I pulled his leash back. He was all over the road, looking a little like Mick Jagger.
After his guardian picked him up, my dogs and I went straight to bed, like older folks needing a rest from the grandkids.
The next day, expecting relief with a “babysitting break,” my pooches kept looking around corners, like, “where is Oliver?” We missed him so. I wondered, was this an attachment disorder? I hardly knew the guy. Do I get infatuated too easily?
Oliver was pure. He fell without worry. His glee in the autumn air gave us all new life. His ability to trust without a brace or a branch to hold him up filled me with wonder. Life didn’t seem pale anymore.
David Whyte said, “So what will you give yourself wholeheartedly to?” Well, Oscar of course.
Katy Byrne, Psychotherapist in Sonoma and writer.
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