New Terrain

It’s been a minute. While I can’t say much about why I’ve been gone, I can say that during a recent stretch of challenging times, my life as I knew it shifted. Like a tectonic plate.

Doesn’t matter “what” happened (much of it is not my story to tell.) Rather, think of your own life. Ever go through a really hard time when even going to the store felt like a foreign occurrence? One in which you were so far outside the realm of normal life you felt like a stranger on earth? I had days and weeks and months when I went to the store with my baseball cap pulled down so low it nearly covered my eyes.

It was as if we had to turn a huge ship around. Huge. (And our arms got so tired from turning, and turning.)

Exercise proves a challenge in such times. Not sure I made gains, but I didn’t stop making sure I took care of myself as best I could. The crisis itself kind of took on a form - one that I could push against. I would mumble things like: You’re not taking me down! At one point, Brad and I were taking so many walks to just try and make sense of the challenges surrounding us, we eventually came to the opinion that hardship was a great motivation for long walks.

Weekends, when I would previously settle to write here, became a time when I needed quiet. To give nothing and say nothing.

The beginning of the shift will always be marked Oct 2024 with the extremely sudden death of our 5-year-old beloved dog Kody. That was hard, but merely a prelude to the months ahead. We slipped and slid.

On top of all of the serious chaos we were dealing with we had an additional “side problem.” It was a dog named Koa whom we had adopted from a rescue shortly after Kody died. The rescue was not forthcoming about Koa’s streak of aggressiveness and we soon came to see we had a dog with a lot more issues than we signed up for. Koa liked to eat things you’re not supposed to eat (socks, dish towels) and that cost us thousands of dollars. But that wasn’t the worst problem. It was the occasional aggression we couldn’t handle. Koa is beautiful and cuddly and smart and sweet so we gave him every chance. But after a year and $4000 of intensive dog training, we finally admitted we weren’t getting where we needed to with this dog in order to keep him.

Luckily, one of the people who had worked with Koa as a trainer took him in. Stephen is sweet kid in his 20’s who fell in love with all Koa’s great qualities (and was eager to continue to work on the not-so-great.) Stephen texted me the other day a bit worried because Koa ate part of a leash. “Yep. He’ll probably throw it up, give him a few days.” I said. Two days later Stephen texted me again: “Great news…!”

We still have a dog at home. She’s an old baby, 12 years, and she doesn’t make it much further than around the block. So, for the first time in almost 25 years I walk dog-less. I head to the bluffs and out to the waves where I dunk my head in the ocean. Even though we live less than a mile from this magnificent place, in the past I never went regularly. These days I go a lot. Run, walk, dunk.

The other day, Stephen sent us a video of Koa rolling around in the back seat of his car after a trip to the beach. Turns out we were really just fostering Koa this past year as we waited for Stephen to show up. It makes me realize: sometimes, in the thick of it, you don’t understand the why. But eventually, when you look back, you do. Look closer still and you can see there’s a bit of magic woven in. Gold threads hidden in the tapestry of life. Meant-to-be-ness.

I apply that thought to the larger scope of my life as I get ready to head out to the bluffs. I run and run until I hit the edge where I scan for dolphins and whales. I think about how life challenge makes for deep self-reliance, a stronger bonding with those you love most. I think of the image of turning a ship, the fatigue and the insight, the willingness to learn, to cry, to be patient, worried, uncomfortable, exhausted, steadfast.

Then I head down the steep and slippery shale path to the beach where the sand is warm. Suddenly, near the end of the path, I slip. Both feet come out from under me and I fall hard on my side. There’s that initial moment of shock, where things aren’t as expected. And then, it turns out, I’m ok.