A ferocious storm barreled through our valley this morning at 4:30. I woke to lightning flashing, thunder cracking, and rain pummeling the windows on the west side of the house.
Below the windows on that end of our bedroom, Otis was circling in his crate, banging into its sides in a panic. Fanny leaped up from where she was sleeping at my feet.
I jumped out of bed and let Otis out of the crate (he ran downstairs to his favorite spot on the couch and went back to sleep). As Fanny and I followed him down, I remembered that I’d opened a window above my desk in the cottage last night. It was warmer outside than inside, and I thought Diamond, my foster dog, would enjoy the warmer air and smells of the night. I love that view out the window above my desk to the west to the Alleghany mountains.
Now, my desk, computer, printer, notebooks, planner, and everything on my desk were soaked. I let Diamond out of her crate. She was excited to see me and danced through the puddles on the floor, immediately tracking water all over the rest of the room and up onto the futon where she settled with a bone to watch me frantically try to dry things. The only positive about the whole situation is it forced me to finally ‘mop’ the floor that was coated in a film of dust, dirt, and dog hair.
What a way to start the day.
After I made tea, did my yoga routine that is (for now) fending off the back problems that are coming for me (both parents and both brothers have had back surgery), I settled on the couch with Fanny and Otis, with Gracie farting at my feet. Every morning, I spend at least an hour, often two if I’m up early, like today, reading and journaling.
One of the books I’m reading is a memoir written by a celebrity dancer whose husband (also a celebrity dancer) committed suicide. It was free on Kindle Unlimited, and so far, it mostly felt like reading an article in People magazine (it might have been ghostwritten by a regular at People). I was almost ready to quit the book because I was disappointed in the lack of authenticity, vulnerability, or risk expected in a grief memoir. But then the author shared an exercise she used daily to motivate herself.
Each day, she wrote the phrases, “I am….”, “I have…”, and “I deserve….” And then finished them.
I pulled out my journal and started to answer those same questions. I’d been looking for a way to examine the uncertain feelings I’ve had of late about the world, what I do, my purpose here, really all of our purposes here. But those phrases and my answers left me only asking myself, “So what?”
What ‘I am’ is still a work in progress, and what ‘I have’ is unimportant. The “I deserve…” question made me angry. I’m tired of everyone, everywhere, thinking they deserve more than they receive. In some cases, maybe it’s true, but in too many, mine included, it’s blatant entitlement.
What do we deserve? Food, water, medical care, safety? Maybe. But people choose food that makes them ill and don’t want to pay for medical care, even when they can afford it.
What about love? Respect? Truth? But do we deserve these if we don’t give them in turn?
What do we deserve?
I’ve thought about that all morning. I think we all deserve the basic freedoms of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. But do we still deserve those if our use of them hurts others or deprives them of those same basic rights?
Deep questions for a rainy, turbulent morning with more storms coming.
I looked at my precious, adored, spoiled dogs snuggled all around me. Do they deserve the care we give them? Most of the people in my world would resoundingly say, “Yes!” and agree that we made dogs dependent on us, so they deserve to be cared for.
Like every other essay I’ve started this week, I’m unsure where to take this one. Maybe because I don’t have the answers. My present uncertainty in so many areas is rooted in the fact that all that I believed about people, the way people should care for each other, that respect I think all human (and canine) life deserves, has been called into question in this country, and all over the world.
Why do we hurt each other?
I have always believed in our better nature. That, at their base, most people are good. I will cling to that belief, even as the news makes me not so certain anymore. We have to take care of more than ourselves. What’s the point of any of this if we don’t?
What do people deserve?
Maybe they don’t deserve our love, and maybe granting our respect is asking too much. Unalienable rights aside, though, I believe they deserve our kindness, our time, our thoughtful consideration of who they are, and the acknowledgment of the unknown battles they are certainly fighting.
Maybe instead of pondering our answers to “I am,” “I have,” and “I deserve,” we should finish the phrase, “I will…”
I will look for ways to spread light instead of darkness.
I will connect rather than disconnect.
I will help instead of hurt.
Honored,
Cara
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My Life in Paragraphs 