The dog needs walks. I need walks too, but I’m a dumb human and I often manage to convince myself otherwise. There are other things I think I could / should be doing – things I’d rather do than leash up the dog and spend fifteen minutes stopping every five steps while he sniffs the latest intensely mysterious whatever. Again, I’m a dumb human and that’s what I convince myself of.
Some days are different, though. Sometimes I find a brief respite from myself. I can go not just out of doors, but truly outside.
The smell of mud.
The humidity rising off of the rapidly melting snow.
The rhythm of my and Junie’s feet on the tar.
The dingy quilt of lowering grey clouds.
The near-constant sigh of traffic on the interstate a short distance away.
These sensations all become amplified when I start to let myself notice them.
The dog doesn’t care where we go. He doesn’t care how fast we go. He only wants to GO. And some days I am in the right frame of mind and I understand.
It’s not about how far or how fast or what direction. It’s the going itself that matters. As long as you can keep going, you’re doing alright.