A Weekend of Lessons—aka, Leave Me Alone, Life, I Get it Already

A+

I took the dog for our first long run of the spring on Saturday.  It was a glorious day for exercise:  the weather was not too hot and featured a lovely caressing breeze and the sounds and smells of neighbors waking up their lawns after a long winter’s rest.  The good weather bred in me a generous spirit, and I decided that Pipp and I should swing by my parent’s house and pick up their little dog, Sophie, so that she could have a walk, too. 

Sophie is the product of empty nesters who mindlessly dote on something as a matter of habit.  Well, I should say that my dad dotes on this six pound creature in ways that I’m sure, if she were a child, she’d be one of those in Wal-mart screaming “TOYYYYY!!! TOYYYYY!!!” while the parent mindlessly soothes, “You won’t get a toy if you keep acting like that.  Sit down!  Sit!  I’ll give you a toy if you sit!”

Incidentally, Sophie does NOT know the command, “sit”.

Anyway, I clipped on her leash, and all three of us headed into the sunshine, Pipp cantering happily, me attempting an easy jog, and Sophie veering wildly this way and that, making hacking noises since she doesn’t quite understand the concept of not choking herself to death at the end of a long rope.

And that’s when I earned my A+ for the day.  I decided that, in this situation, I could really only control one thing well:  MY dog.   So I reached down, and tied Sophie’s leash to Pippin.  That’s right, I let HIM do all the work.

And it was brilliant.  I controlled the thing that I could, and that thing controlled the thing I couldn’t. 

There’s a metaphor in there somewhere.

The walk ended beautifully with Pippin walking obediently by my side, while Sophie walked obediently by Pippin’s side.  It was an adorable, satisfying sight to behold.

F-

I am finally learning that thirty, in many ways, is not all that different from seventeen.  I remember thinking in high school, “I can’t wait until I’m out of high school because I won’t get pimples anymore, I can come and go as I please, and life will be awesome.”  I like being thirty, I really do, but I’m finding that yes, it’s possible to still break out like a hormonal teenager, it’s not unheard of to cry over hurt feelings (like the time your crush wouldn’t ask you to prom), and sometimes it just feels good to sulk over a problem with moody silence and a pint of Ben and Jerry’s.    

There are times I am so proud of how far I’ve come since seventeen.  I have a greater sense of who I am and what I want at this age, but just when I think I’ve “got it” life hands me a little lesson.  Sometimes I’ll handle it the way a thirty-year-old should.  And sometimes I’ll just pout and want to slam my door and yell, “No one understands me OR my music!” and then wear all black accessorized with a sour expression. 

 FAIL.

Sometimes I just want to have “arrived” you know?  No more lessons, no more self-improvement…just finally GETTING it.  But of course, then I’d be a total douchebag.  Sigh.