Our sweet Annie is missing. She’s about 15 years old with the soul of young, cheerful puppy. When she wags her little, stubby tail, her whole body wags with it.
My husband and I are outside for about an hour searching for her. We check under the deck, down the road, and through the woods.
My hyper-awareness makes me sense things that trick my mind into thinking she’s there. I take a step on the leaf-covered ground and freeze – believing I hear her panting nearby. I see a big, brown leaf that my mind registers as her soft, narrow face. When I look closer through the brush though, I see indeed that it is only a leaf.
I love going for walks around here. Spring has sprung and everything is vibrant green and a canopy of boughs hang arched over the road. I’m always trying to get my husband to go on walks with me and this time it didn’t take convincing. Now, he has a ‘reason’ to.
We also go deep in the woods. Nostalgia washes over me when I find the old trail and the spot where our fort used to be as kids. I’ve been wanting to explore these woods for a long time now and finally, because I’m looking for Annie, I have a reason to.
It’s more motivating for some of us when we do something for others; but we never seem to get around to it if it’s just for us – as if going out of our way to do something we enjoy for ourselves isn’t a good enough reason to do it.
My heart aches for Annie but it also feels joyous to be walking around in beautiful nature with my husband. It’s okay to feel both pain and bliss simultaneously. Like when you go to a funeral and see an old friend there you hadn’t seen in years. We’ll think, “I’m supposed to be sad,” or “I’m a bad person if I feel happy,” but we’re only ‘supposed’ to feel our true feelings – and often times that’s more than one feeling at a time.