A Forest Encounter
“Living my practice” is important to me because it supports my core values of authenticity and integrity. Living my practice means that my mindfulness practice doesn’t end when I finish my meditation; in fact, the work really begins as I walk out into the “real” world. Living my practice doesn’t mean that I react perfectly in all situations— it means that I stay committed to reflecting on my reactions, choices, and behaviors and getting to know myself better, in service of growth. In this post, I offer a real-life example of how I process through an everyday situation.
The Quiet Beginning
Picture it: a solo morning hike in the woods. The sun is shining and the woods are quiet. The air is crisp. I'm walking along feeling grateful and happy that I decided to offer myself this gift: this gorgeous, peaceful morning to enjoy quietly.
The Encounter
About 10 minutes out, a loud laugh rings out through the trees. Already, in my introverted heart there’s a sort of stiffening, a constriction: “Oh, yeah… other people.” I put my mask on.
Soon, up ahead of me I can see three women at a trail junction, maskless and spaced apart so that they’re spread across both trails, whether I wanted to go forward, left, or right. Between and around them are four dogs of varying sizes.
Some background: I’m not super afraid of dogs. I’m also not super comfortable around dogs. I didn’t grow up with dogs close by or with any animals inside our home. And what’s more… I wouldn’t say I’m a dog person, you know, because I don’t have a dog, AND if you consider the energy of people, I’m probably more like a cat than a dog. There is a kind of quietness, a restrained way of being that is part of me and that I appreciate.
As I near the trail junction, the dogs begin to run toward me, and their human companions call them back. As I get closer, one of them, a small beagle, trots out again curiously, and I give it a smile, calling up some friendliness from within.
Suddenly, another dog, this one large and soaking wet, runs up to me and jumps on me, putting its paws on my chest, its head almost level with mine.
This is not something that feels dangerous, but for me it’s still deeply uncomfortable, definitely not something I wanted or expected when walking out into the quiet woods that morning. I’m startled, and I say something like, “Jeez!”
As I continue walking, brushing the mud off my clothes, the woman calls her dog to her, but doesn’t say anything at all to me. She talks to her dog, but doesn’t say, “Oh gosh. I'm so sorry! That must be uncomfortable,” or like anything like that.
This pisses me right off. This situation doesn’t feel new: dogs on the beach have come running at my husband and I and kicked sand into our picnic sandwiches, while their human stays very focused on the dog, maybe yelling, “Hey, come back here!” but never looking at or acknowledging the humans who are being affected by their dog. So for me in this moment, there’s a history to this encounter, and the implied disregard really annoys me.
And so as I walk by the woman, between the startlement of my body being jumped on and the wave of pissed-off-ness rising, I'm too heated up to have my wits about me. What I say is a sarcastic, “Oh, it's okay. No worries.” Which is my impromptu and unskillful way to convey, “This is not okay. Acknowledge me.”
The woman replies, “Oh, I'm sorry… puppy energy.” To me this is a half-acknowledgement, a half-apology. It acknowledges that something has happened AND to me it points to the primacy of the the puppy’s experience and the human companion’s own helplessness like, hey, what can you do? (Hint: So many things! Or just anything at all! And it is your responsibility to do so!)
The Reaction
I keep walking without another word, my heart beating fast and hard in my chest. Again, it’s partly the experience with the puppy, the unexpectedness of being jumped on, the little jolt of fear that I experience as a sort of a violence, a violation of my space, by my body being touched by an animal that I don't know. That's part of it.
But the greater part is the stress and violation of feeling really disregarded, disrespected, not by a puppy, but by a fellow human woods-walker. And on top of that, my own failure to speak clearly, the frustration of not saying the truth. That's the bigger struggle going on inside me.
As I walk on, all the things I would want to say start to come out in my mind, and they're all really judgmental, with a flavor of, “Let me give you an education on how it is to be a kind and decent human being!” And, “What's wrong with you and all people like you? I get that you enjoy having an animal around, and I get that that animal becomes, for you, sort of like a person, and you want them to be happy and free. I think that’s kind of cool. When your animals expression of being happy and free scares or bothers or disrupts another being who also wants to be happy and free (ME!), then I don't think that's right. And that seems like it would be fairly obvious if you had a speck of empathy.” (Whew. Quite a lecture!)
All these judging thoughts, my fiercely beating heart… and there's also judgment of myself, because… Can't I be more easygoing? Am I the uptight and judgey lady in the woods? And amidst it all, this sneaking thought that my morning is ruined. I know that's not true. And I also know that it will be ruined if I stay in this track.
The Return
Luckily, to my left appears a stop-you-in-your-tracks morning scene of dark and light, the trees in the background as sunlight filters through the fern fronds, shining. No one is around.
I stop in my tracks. I put my hand on my heart. I stand there, listening and breathing. I feel myself come back to myself, little by little.
The Discoveries
Then, as I continue on, the actual true words come forth that are not an education, thinking that I know everything about the right way to be, because of course I don't. So the true words come forth, and they are something like, “Hey, I'm uncomfortable and my heart is beating really fast. I'd appreciate it if you could hold on to your dog. I hope you have a good day.” Straightforward, speaking from my own present-moment experience, not mean. Who knows if the hearer would want to hear it or not, but it’s my true experience, clear and kind.
At the next junction, I find myself consciously choosing a narrow trail, a path that I don't think anyone else will be on. I notice how as I walk, I flush little birds who rise up, startled, flying from the grasses up into the air into the trees. Bees circle me. I think to myself… me too. I'm not walking through the world as a totally peaceful, benevolent creature either. My own puppy-energy could stir up the quiet morning for other beings, too. And some of my self-righteousness falls away.
The “Why”
I have an idea of you reading this and thinking, “Damn, why do you have to take it so seriously?! Why does a 60-second encounter take you 30 minutes to process?” (Hmmm… are you thinking that or am I judging myself again?) The way I see it: Number one, this is how I am, and I honor my sensitivity and depth. Because I feel deeply and process slowly, I can share about my experience, in case this processing is helpful for anyone reading.
But also, in this processing, the experience is making its way through me, from my body, to my brain, to my heart, like a filtration process. Imagine dirty water that soaks into the earth, and eventually comes out somewhere else, sparkling clean. For me, that’s how annoyance and judgment (what feels ugly) filters through my being and becomes learning and growth, becomes something beautiful.
For me, the opposite of processing would be to just say to myself, “Let it go.” If I just say “Let it go,” maybe I do let it go… But more likely, this experience gets filed away in my “people are assholes” file, and more and more pieces of “data” are added to that file over time. I love to hike. A lot of people have dogs and love to hike, too, and so is not a new situation or unique one. It will likely happen again. What will be my response next time? Will it be a cycle of judgment and self-righteous outrage every time?
The Possibilities
By letting this experience process through me slowly and reflectively, by fully feeling my emotions and noticing my thoughts and reactions instead of denying them or pushing them away, hopefully, the next time I experience something similar, there’s the possibility of an inner shift. Perhaps next time, I'll just smile and say, “Well, that's some big puppy energy!” Maybe instead of being swept away by the stress response, unable to say anything that wasn't passive aggressive, maybe the simple and true words will come out of me as I arrive: “Can you hold your dog? I'm not comfortable.”
Who knows what will happen the next time around? But with this reflection, new possibilities arise for future moments. By bringing my full presence, these possibilities are more available to me. They become part of the array of options for my internal responses and my external responses, what I say and do… new opportunities for being intentional and kind as I move through the world.