Some days define life. They create smiles when least expected. You know those days… when only once things have gone ‘wrong’ that we realise that they couldn’t possibly have gone better? Those moments are precious for our learning… when you think you’ll only be satisfied if something goes a certain way. But then it doesn’t. Yet you’re even happier. What can be learned about how we human beings attach ourselves to a desired outcome? It’s a big question. The answer is… dog-poo bags.
How many days of your life have been spent hoping, really hoping, for a particular outcome with something? Perhaps with a big project? A deal you’ve been putting your heart and soul into? Putting an offer in for a house you’d love? Someone you’ve asked out on a date? A particular present for Christmas? Good news about the health of someone important to you?
On those many days, what happened to you while you hoped? Tension, excitement, hope, desire, curiosity, expectation, impatience, aspiration, dependency, more hope? How much energy did this use? And what difference did it make?
Last week, our day went wrong in a huge way. Nothing we wanted happened. Everything went wrong. We’ll never, ever forget the day. It was awful. It was simply perfect bliss.
Lisa and I are expecting our first baby. We’re just weeks away, and just recently, we’ve been busy. We’ve been attending ante-natal classes and NCT like there’s no tomorrow. We’ve met some very genuine people experiencing similar moments to us, and it’s all pretty exciting. And as many of you will know, when you’re only weeks away, you’ve just completed the decorating, nursery-furnishing, house-alterations and priority shifts. If you’re not careful, it’s easy to tire yourself out even before the baby arrives. So last week, we decided to have a day off.
After our bacon-and-eggs-in-luxury-bread-rolls start to the day, Lisa suddenly had an urgent beauty to her face. There’s a beach we’ve heard of on the south coast. Everyone raves about it. We’ve been raising a young Golden Labrador (“Rosie”) for just over a year, so we thought taking her for a walk along this hidden beach would be an experience to remember. Lisa just came out with it:
“Babe… shall we scrap the day? Shall we? Do you remember that beach everyone’s been on about? Once the baby’s born, it’ll be months before we can decide anything in the moment…. Sod it… Shall we?”
It was last week during the heat-wave. The sun was shining, the day was glorious and for the first time in my life, I ignored the alarm bells in the back of my head. Google told us the beach was only 75 minutes away by car. We packed our beautiful doggy into the car and off we went. And as we set off, everything seemed ok.
It was only when we were 6 miles away that things started going wrong.
Our hour and a quarter journey turned into 3 and a quarter hours. Like us, everyone else in England wanted to go to the beach too. It’s a remote beach, so there were no cafés en route. How was our Labrador doing in the back of the car in this heat? Did she still have enough water? And my pregnant wife… how was she? Was her stomach OK? And her back? Did she still have enough snacks? Would she get stressed? And THAT question… might she start having contractions in the car in the middle of this traffic jam in the middle of nowhere???
But the more we waited, the more we talked. The more we talked, the more we connected. Talking about our baby. Smiling remembering our wedding, laughing at the moments we’ve shared since we’ve been together. Feeling those same moments we did as we walked along the beach together when we first met. And talking. Really, truly talking.
Half of Sussex awaited us at the beach. There were millions of people. I’ve not ever seen a British beach like it. Not a spare square-metre in sight. And while I rapidly scanned the miles of beach for somewhere for my pregnant wife to sit, the sun beat down. And every child in England wanted to stroke our dog. Our golden labrador isn’t used to that many people, and she’s a blatant flirt. So surrounded by children, with the energy of fun and excitement everywhere, she suddenly pulled with new force and her lead snapped. She was gone. Children were chasing her, so was I and as I looked back at the beach from the water, my pregnant wife was on her own, standing, in the extreme heat. I had to get back to her. I had to save our little dog (could she swim?). And as I ran to my wife, she laughed and pulled out the camera. She was fine. She was smiling But where was the dog?
This was awful. Why hadn’t we just stayed at home and switched off for the day?
I found the dog. She was in the sea in the middle of 20 or so young children. They loved her. She loved that they loved her. She was loving their attention. And as the children stared, stroked and cooed, their parents surrounded their children, enjoying the beautiful, mad doggy in the middle. I needed to look after my wife, so I had to first get our dog back. I got to the middle of the group of admirers, and held our Rosie carefully. And just as the 30/40 people around us tried to tell me how lovely Rosie was, Rosie decided to squat and share her breakfast of earlier that day with everyone around her.
You can only imagine what kind of pandemonium followed. It was like something out of ‘Jaws’. And as the waves crashed, everyone ran. Children screaming, parents saving their little ones. Only I remained. Running through the water, with poo bags in hand. Trying to scoop up. Desperately trying to look in control. And as everyone stared from the shore, there was the most beautiful smile. It was part of the most beautiful laugh. It was my heavily pregnant wife… taking photos. And as the shame, horror and sweat engulfed me, I started laughing too.
The shame. We had to leave the beach. Our dog didn’t understand what she’d done wrong. My wife was thirsty. She was hot. Our dog wanted to give more love. Why wasn’t she allowed to? And once we’d reached the front of the 30 minute queue at the only cafeteria, a young lad doing his very best in English told us there was at least a 1 hour wait for any food. We decided to just go home. And it took us 45 minutes just to get out of the car park.
The journey home lasted 3 hours. The day had been one stressful disaster after another. That’s why it was brilliant.
Ever since leaving home, we’d been talking. There’d been constant giggles, smiles and laughter from my wife. We’d enriched even further our connection as a couple and as parents-to-be. Our Labrador Rosie had experienced love and attention she’d never dared dream of… and she’d learned to swim! My partner had had laughed and laughed and laughed. And all the way home, we knew we’d had the best worst day you could dream of.
Life is a privilege. It doesn’t last forever. Yet it gives us the opportunity to enjoy moments that feel purely eternal. We simply have to be real enough and switched on as people to notice these moments as they occur. When we appreciate what we have while we have it, days feel fuller. They feel like the very gift they are. We human beings thrive on ideas, plans, and intentions. And they’re good to have. But knowing when to let go is crucial to our growth. No matter how amazing our initial ideas are, something better is always waiting for us. And when we’re big enough to let go of our initial thinking, the smiles, laughs, beauty and dog-poo bags change our life forever.
:-) Jonathan
Absolutely wonderful!
Posted by: Claire Garrett | 11/07/2011 at 10:42 AM