In a time of serious disconnection, I really look forward to hearing my dog chew.

I like to tell myself that I haven’t been able to focus since quarantine, but if I’m brutally honest, I don’t think I’ve been able focus for most of my adulthood. And I don’t mean focus on work, or focus on relationships, focus on a task at hand or a project to complete. I’m very, very, very good at those things — in fact, I’d even say that being so good at those things has left me completely unable to focus on myself.

That’s not to say I’m not selfish. My laser focus on controlling my external circumstances is, in fact, a selfish act. It’s a destructive method of avoiding my own issues; to avoid taking responsibility for myself, my own unhappiness or happiness, my inability to be truly vulnerable with other people. All of these things are symptoms of what I’m learning is deep-seeded codependency; I associate successfully performing tasks and planning for the future and the ability to control and solve other people’s problems with love and stability, and so that’s what I enact upon the world and the people in it. Unfortunately, I often do this without stopping to ask, “What does this situation or person actually need? And, what do I?”

Of course, there isn’t any maliciousness in it. I know that my heart is gentle and abiding. My intent is always to be a good; a whole person who helps other people and who spreads joy. That intent is why I’ve always been able to convince myself the more emotional energy I invest in my external life, the more I care. I realize now, with months of therapy and reflection, that the act of trying to control and fix and quickly react to external circumstances has led me to an overwhelming feeling of internal emptiness. I don’t know how to right my own ship, and when I’m confronted with the task of doing so, the feeling gives me such a sense of anxiety that I’ve historically preferred to lose myself in whatever is right in front of me. When one perceived crisis or problem feels like it’s subsiding, I find another to put in its place, without realizing that the crisis is, and always has been, within.

Think of me as a panicked, slippery frog hopping from one lily pad to another, never stopping to really enjoy the view from each. Ribbit.

I’ll stop here and say this; my shame at not knowing or caring for myself well enough is often overwhelming. If you’ve ever felt this way, know that I see you. It’s a desperately fucked up situation to be in, and you often don’t get to come to the realization it’s happening until everything you were working so hard to build is gone. That’s where I’m at right now, and that’s why I’m writing about it: when I read or hear someone is going through the same or similar, it makes me feel better. Be nice to yourself. This isn’t your fault.

I also think that, in addition to the heaviness and introspection and words we learn in therapy, we all deserve a little levity. In fact, I think that my sense of humor is one of the few things that’s kept me feeling alive and connected to other people throughout my 35 years of bouncing from one thing to the next, with no real goal or end in sight. And, real talk; it’s f*g hilarious to be a spectator to your own b*t. When you see yourself for what you are, clearly, you can have compassion for that person. When you have compassion, you create space for trust. Where there’s trust, there’s laughter. By all reports you’ll eventually get to have a whole ass vulnerable relationship with yourself, which is what you were ideally supposed to have cultivated before you started focusing on the external. It’s not about regret, though; it’s about progress. Seeing yourself clearly and compassionately is a f**g gift — especially if you spent far too long giving that gift to someone else.

Life has never been harder, for all of us. Even the most stable, solid people have been harmed by the consequences of the pandemic, the quarantine, the never-ending traumas and injustices enacted by our current administration. So, if you’re like me, go easy on yourself. We were fucked up enough already, and now this.

I’m told that after you become self-aware about what’s burdening you, the next thing to do is to try and take active steps to change your circumstances. I’m not talking about major, life-altering changes (I’m really good at those too, and am only now realizing that it just adds to the noise you need to drown out your own b**t). I’m talking about small things; everyday awarenesses you can cultivate to bring yourself back to the present and remind yourself that you’re safe.

And for me, there’s one thing I can count on to bring me that sense of safety. I’ve been trying to focus on it recently, and luckily, it happens at night when I am at my most anxious and activated.

Sometime in between curling up at my feet and falling asleep for the night, my dog Paul makes a decision for himself. He stands up at the foot of the bed, looks around, looks at me, and slowly climbs down. He slowly ambles to the kitchen, and even though it’s happened many, many times before, there’s always a second when I wonder what he’s up to.

Then, just as I’m about to check on him, I hear it: the slow, deliberate crunching of his kibble. At this time of night, he eats differently than he does the rest of the time, more slowly, the kind of slack-jawed, slow-motion chewing we all do when we’re having a late night snack; a little bit sleepy, a little bit hungry, a little bit bored, a little bit of calming routine. I tuned it out for awhile in favor of listening to my own anxiety, but now that I’m trying to tune back in, it’s one of the things about my day-to-day that brings me a lot of comfort, especially in These Uncertain Times. If my dumbass dog can honor his needs, his desires, his sense of his surroundings, and his routine, why shouldn’t I? And why shouldn’t you?

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