Resistance

I resist the things that bring me happiness.

Sound Familiar?

For example, each day I try to convince myself to stand on my yoga mat. Some days I succeed. Some, I do not. On the days that I’m successful, I experience deep gratitude within short moments of unfurling my mat with a snap and watching it settle against the floor. Gratitude because, when I am standing on my mat, I connect with the truest version of myself. That connection makes me happy.

            Likewise, usually I must talk myself into writing. There are a hundred things that I tell myself I should complete first. Chores. Cooking. Laundry. Or perhaps I’ll read instead? Maybe I’ll garden? There’s an unending list. Important things, yes. Things that require my attention, yes. But definitely nothing more important to my well-being than writing. Because when I finally overcome the resistance to picking up my pen, I also shrug off a mask that conceals the truest me. I sink into the most authentic edition of myself.

            Similarly, every walk I’ve ever taken involves tolerating a painful period of brain chatter first. A back and forth of – Should I? When is best? This first or that after? As if I’ve forgotten that my spirit swells with every footfall. Forgotten that when I walk, I create lovely stories in my head. That all nervous energy seeps through my feet and is absorbed by the sidewalk.

            Perhaps you do this too? Perhaps I am not alone in this?

I’ve tried to understand what this is. What causes me to deny myself (or at least prolong) opportunities for joy. I have yet to figure it out.

            Lately, I’ve been thinking on this a lot. In doing so, I recalled a charming moment during a trail walk of several months ago. The memory certainly isn’t a solution or an answer. But maybe something to aspire to…

            My Gordon Setter, Elsie, and I were enjoying a very wet and grey trail walk. Welcome to spring on Newfoundland’s avalon peninsula. Drizzly. Misty. Thankfully the trail was free of ice and snow and I counted that blessing even while I cursed the enduring RDF (rain, drizzle and fog for any non-NLers).

            The trail was sprinkled with occasional throngs of people. Being a weekend morning and people were desperate for fresh air after a multitude of soggy months. I was walking at a rapid pace. One that felt effortless and delicious in my body. Those type of walks don’t happen all the time and I was relishing the lightness and freedom that I embodied.

            Elsie was doing what Elsie does. Her tail was high. Her head was high. She pivoted to smile her toothy grin at each group that we overtook. She earned many ‘ohhs' and 'ahhs’ because she’s a beaut and she is very cognizant of it. I call it her Princess Complex.

            We were on the homeward stretch of our trot and zipping up the final incline. Ahead and coming towards us was a small cluster of people. They were strolling in a leisurely fashion, slowed by the tiny feet of children. As we drew near, Miss Elsie’s tail began a slow and steady wag. Our girl adores children. Possibly because she’d been exposed to a passel of them at her breeders. Where they went, Elsie and her sibling were dragged lovingly behind.

            The cutest little girl of about three years old was skipping down the path. In a denim barn coat and pink sneakers. Her dark hair was plaited into two low braids that fell over either shoulder. She had the darkest eyes that shimmered with flecks of light. These were focused intently on Elsie.

            The child did not hesitate. Not for one second. As we drew nearer, her wee sneakers began to kick up gravel and she pummeled full steam, directly to Elsie. Her hands were held at chest height, palms up. Without faltering, she raced. She stopped only when she and Elsie were eye to eye. Her little hands clasped Elsie gently around her snout and she touched her pixie nose to my girl’s wet one.

            In Elsie she had obviously sensed a kindred spirit. And Elsie’s setter heart was stolen in that moment. Her tail swung madly as she surrendered to the child’s gentle touch.

            After a brief moment, it was over. Our braided friend dropped her hands and skipped to her mamma amidst the sound of adult laughter.

            Here’s what stood out for me: That child did not hesitate to run headfirst into joy.

Did she question if it was safe?

Did she first stop to tie her shoe?

Did she seek approval?

None of the above.

Perhaps the best cure for resistance is to practice running, without question or doubt, towards our truths.

Headfirst -

Straight into Joy.