I just want to be clear: this is not a photo of either of my dogs. I just felt compelled by the grumpy look on its face, combined with the party hat. You see, it is my birthday this week, and I am feeling a little grumpy about that. I thought I'd be on a plane, headed to Greece, but I am sheltering-in-place. I use the photo to remind myself that grumpy is not attractive, even in dogs, and that there are much better alternatives.
Birthdays have always been "look forward" moments rather than "look back" for me. They are a chance to begin again. Yes, I celebrate the year and years behind, but mostly I look forward and ask what now and what else. Birthdays feel like a fresh start. "How will I create the year ahead?" is an enticing question to me.
I don't have an answer to the what next question. I was hoping to reflect on this in Greece, basking by the Aegean. I do have a whisper of a hint however, and it was gifted to me on an afternoon dog walk. The pups and I were just out the door as our neighbor walked out of her house with her toddler. The baby was clearly entranced with "the puppies," but I know Mr. Darcy, and in his doggy enthusiasm he mistakes small children for large dogs and is likely to knock them over in his efforts to entice them to play. But the baby reached out, and Darcy ignored social distancing rules to do something that is very uncharacteristic of him: he did NOT knock over the child, but gave him a butterfly nudge on the cheek with his cold nose.
I watched that little one's face light up. He was eye-to-eye with Darcy, and it was as if he had just met the most wonderful being in the world. They were both entranced with each other, I think. I fell in love with the moment, an instant of a moment, all non verbal, but so very eloquent.
What clue does that moment offer me with my birthday week question: What next? In years past the "what's next" has been about what I will do and what I will create. Well, all bets are off with the virus in town, so this year I think my "what else" has more to do with being than doing. That child offered me the gift of wonder, of falling in love with everything. I want that. I want a state of radical openness that lets me fall into the arms of each moment, moment after moment after moment. I want to say "wow" and "yes" and "more please." I want to see the world as if for the first time.
This year, as I begin again, I remind myself that if I am serious about cultivating this radical openness with my world, I'll need to begin again over and over again, and not just on a birthday. It will take a lot of practice, developing this new way of seeing and being in the world. I can begin now. When I forget, and fall asleep at the wheel, I can begin again. Rebirth after rebirth after rebirth. Each moment new, fresh and perfect . . . if I see it with eyes and heart that are new, fresh and perfect.
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