by Joanna Mechlinski
Until fairly recently, I had never heard of mindfulness. But I soon realized that I’d been doing it for years without even realizing it. Ever since I adopted my first dog eight years ago, I’ve looked forward to our daily walks as a time of quiet introspection. Whether it’s first thing in the morning, just after I’ve come home from work or later in the evening, I enjoy my mindful walks with Charlie. For many of us living today, it’s easy to pass much of your day indoors (and much of that in front of a screen). There just aren’t that many things which bring us outdoors frequently, unless we make a special effort. But when you have a dog, you have to make those open-air treks a regular part of your day.
Having been diagnosed in my early twenties with lupus and polymyositis, a rare and serious chronic illness which impairs my ability to get around easily, sitting for prolonged periods is challenging but I do manage to regularly practice a modified form of seated yoga, along with a gratitude and compassion practice upon waking each morning and every evening before bed.
Regular walks are both a difficulty and a thing I really need to keep up the muscle strength I still possess. But over the years, I’ve found myself looking forward to these times of my day – usually no more than twenty minutes per outing – where I am able to either prepare for or decompress from my day.
I live in a condo with a deck that leads directly to a small wooded area. In the mornings before work, no matter how sleepy I may have felt just moments before, I always feel a jolt of well-being upon stepping outside into the crisp cool air of a new day. While Charlie sniffs and looks for the ideal place to relieve himself, my eyes are instinctively drawn to the rising sun and brightening the sky, to the birdsong and tiny skitters of squirrels scampering. Each time, something new catches my attention and admiration, such as the beauty in the way a beam of sunlight manages to shine through the foliage. Sometimes I stand near a huge rock or a massive or I focus on the present and return inside with a new resolve for tackling the day’s tasks. It’s a kind of waking up that can’t be found inside a coffee mug.
After work, I feel a similar focus, but in reverse. No matter what my day at work may have brought me, be it exhaustion, physical pain or emotional duress from attempting to complete paperwork on time or diplomatically handle difficult callers, that time outdoors with my pup always helps me to decompress. Even if only moments before I had been ready to announce my resignation from my job – or all of humanity – I quickly feel the soothing effects of nature and that pure, loving canine spirit.
Then, on our final outing just before bedtime, I’m surrounded by darkness. The inky night sky, the shadows of the trees, the tall black outline of my building – somehow the muted environment is always comforting, never frightening. As we walk, my mind ponders each of the things I see and feel. I watch the trees sway and wonder what tomorrow’s weather will bring. I see the distant flickers of television screens in my neighbors’ windows and imagine them snug with their families, relaxing before bed. I may be alone with my dog outside, yet I always feel closely connected to the people nearby, even if I don’t actually know them.
The benefits of our daily walks are obvious – not just for me, but for Charlie as well. While he is happy enough just being able to sniff and gambol outside, I believe it’s just as important to be fully present during those walks. I often see people who walk their dogs while listening to music or looking at their phones; and although I can certainly understand their mindset, I prefer not going down that route myself. It might be easy and often tempting, especially when we’re tired, to simply get through the walk on auto pilot. But it takes so little to engage with a dog. I make a point of little declarations of “good boy” or other comments, and watch his tail wag with utter joy. Charlie knows his mom is away for a good portion of most days, but during those moments, I am entirely his. A dog never asks for more.
And that, truly, is the biggest thing for us humans to realize and live by. We often share inspirational quotes on the internet, tell ourselves that it’s the small, simple things that matter most. We are riveted by concepts such as upcycling and tiny houses. We want to believe we can eke our way through the world with the bare minimum if we choose. But how many of us really manage to live by this guideline on a regular basis? It’s easy to see why people may have the best of intentions that fall on the wayside; after all, our world is filled with all sorts of daily complications and distractions. I used to get caught up in them myself – and sometimes still do. But for the most part, I am grateful for the life I have been given. I am thankful daily for my dog, and yes, even for chronic illness. Without them, I could not be the best person I am able to be.
Follow Joanna on Twitter @castlesburning
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