Iāve been thinking about dread lately, namely how much Iām dreading these months leading up to our next presidential election. I dread the endless rhetoric, the talking heads regurgitating empty promises and attacks and criticisms ad nauseum to fill the hungry belly of the 24-hour news cycle. I dread the ads, the bumper stickers, the way I will sidestep social conversations about politics like Iām tiptoeing through a minefield.
Even the word ādreadā sort of sits in the mouth like a lump of wet clay and falls out with a thud.
While Iām at it, I might as well dread more banal things: leaving my cozy bed, doctors appointments, and eternal meetings that could have been just an email.
In contrast, there is my dog, Baxter. He is a German Shepherd-Yellow Lab mix, with fur the color of a lightly toasted marshmallow. Each morning, he plants his wet nose under the arm of whomever is sleeping closest to the edge of the bed. At the crook of an available elbow, he bobbles his head to remind us gently (but persistently) that it is time to start the day. Even though he faces a bowl of plain tap water and dry kibble, each new day begins with ears perked and tail wagging.
On the weekends, we hop in the car and go to a forest preserve for a nice long walk.
I am convinced that Baxter knows when we are heading to the woods because of the way he does his little happy puppy dance and waits not-so-patiently for one of us to open the back of the SUV so he can hop in.
But he canāt really know thatās where heās going, can he? Not every car ride heās gone on has been to the woods. Sometimes he just goes with me to the bank and the gas station. Sometimes, it might be to visit the vet or the groomer. Baxter hops into our car good-naturedly, ready for an adventure. He doesnāt really know if weāre headed somewhere nearby, or if weāre headed across the country. A few summers ago, we drove to Utah, and Baxter sat like a sentinel the whole time, regally regarding the cornfields, then mountains, then cliffs of red stone that were set ablaze by late afternoon sun.Ā
To be like a dog! Baxter seems incapable of dread. He lives completely in the moment ready for any adventure even though he doesnāt exactly know the destination. For 10 minutes or 10 hours, he is totally in.
Dread must be a uniquely human emotion, some faulty wiring afflicting only people, supposedly the smartest beings on the earth.
At a meditation instruction session last week, the coach instructed the class to center our thoughts 8-10 inches in front of our faces. This was hard for me. Only 8-10 inches? Whatās up ahead beyond that? What will tomorrow hold? What will next year look like?Ā
When Baxter is in the woods, his ears are perked up, an indication that he is both happy and also on high alert in case he needs to protect us from a sudden attack of squirrels. He is very vigilant about squirrels ā because of his faithful watch, we have not been ambushed by a pack of lawless squirrels ā not even once! Such a good boy!
Between the two of us, me with my dreadfulness, Baxter with his tail-wagging optimism, we make quite a pair. I am supposed to be the smarter one, but I am the fool. I need to attend a class to teach me how to focus only 8-10 inches in front of my face, while Baxter does it without instruction. Dread weighs on my shoulders wherever I go, and I mistake my low-level apprehension about everything as some noble cause. Meanwhile, Baxter galumphs beside me, tongue lolling, pulling on his leash slightly as he struts a few steps ahead of me. He sniffs the air and pushes forward. If an unexpected band of ruffian squirrels jumps out at us on the path, he will fight them off one by one. Dread doesnāt enter into the equation for Baxter. He is ready for danger, but heās not going to worry about it until it is right in front of him.
I go to the trees, the trees, the trees, I whisper to myself. These are the words I chose to repeat during the meditation session, the words that are supposed to quiet my brain. After many repetitions, my mind slows enough until I am finally rewarded with swirling colors in my mindās eye that take on the shape of concentric tree rings. If just for a moment, the mantra has pushed out the rhetoric, the meetings, the talking heads and made my mind a peaceful place. Itās a place I want to visit more often.
Baxter wonāt share his mantra with me, but I suspect heās much better at meditation than I am. He wags his tail and points his ears straight to the sky. He squares his shoulders with the assurance that he can handle anything that comes his way. Even squirrels.Ā
Especially squirrels.
