Today, I took a walk. I went somewhere I’ve never been before, and walked around for a half-hour or so. In a new place, one I’ve never visited with The Hubs, or with one or both of the dogs for an adventure, or even on my own or with a girlfriend, I walked. The path was steep, so I climbed and climbed, slowly and slowly. I watched my footing, as one does when navigating unfamiliar terrain.
I did not think about my deep sadness. I did not ponder grief. I did not recall watching my dear bully struggle, in pain, and labor for breath. I did not think about how useless and stupid I felt, watching him in his last moments, unable even to help him die with dignity. I didn’t brood about how deeply affected my family has been by our big strong dog’s sudden but still somehow drawn-out passing.
I didn’t mull over how much work I had waiting back at the office, or consider what I should do first upon my return. I did not make a mental list of tasks and priorities. I did not plan what’s for dinner or what I’ll do this weekend.
I wasn’t even avoiding meditating on all these things.
I just watched my footing. And I walked.