Fletcher is going to die

...and thoughts about compassion

Our dog, Fletcher, is 12 — he's not in imminent danger (for those of you who know him), but he is showing his age in a variety of ways.

As he rubbed up against me again the other day (making his routinely irritating contribution of hair and dander to my dark dress pants), a thought snuck past my typical reaction, "You're not going to be doing that much longer, are you?"

Not a particular watershed thought, for sure. But, it did prompt me toward something closer to wondering what I will feel when he will never do that any more. Will miss it — will I miss him?

Yes, I will. He is so presumptuous at times...and I will miss him even for that simplicity.

So, what would it be like to have compassion for him and his 'irritations'...simply because of who he is? You can see where I might be going with this....

After all, I'm showing my age, too. And, perhaps because of that, I'm catching myself actually trending toward irritability (in a number of domains) rather than toward compassion.

It got me thinking about some things; noticing some things. Like, I don't have infinite time left either. And, I need to pay more attention to some realities about my existence, too.

For example, I've discovered lately that the last person I am compassionate with is...me.

I can often easily discover compassion for someone else — just tell me their story. But, it is not as easy for me, to honor mine and to extend it to myself. And, that actually limits my compassion for others more than I often realize.

The truth is, I want compassion, as badly as anyone else. The strange part is that I hide my need for it from others. A habit (maybe)? A mechanism (more likely). In fact, this pattern often hides my need for it from myself.

So, I'm exploring these patterns of thinking and behaving (and I must say I'm not too thrilled with what it is revealing).

A week or two ago, I blew an emotional gasket. As usual, it was not about the thing that triggered it. I was bruised by it, in more ways than one. The week after I was having bizarre dreams (you know, the perennial ones we all have from time to time; but, this time with some derivative versions that were...disturbing). Something consistent and something not. What IS happening?

I shared the gory details (which I will spare you here) with a couple of friends — needing a kind of confession to someone. One of them turned to me, looked directly into my eyes, and said (with tears in his eyes), "I have nothing but compassion for you." I was overcome by my own resulting tears. I wasn't expecting that.

As I reflected on this exchange, it occurred freshly to me that some of what I want most deeply in this life is compassion. I tend to think I don't need it, at the very least don't deserve it (especially in light of how much some other people do). But, I do and I want it...a lot.

And this led me to the realization that I'm not very compassionate with myself. I'm guessing there are more than a few drivers involved, only some of which I am aware of.

One of the problems is that a) if I more desperately than I knew want human compassion and, b) I don't extend much of it to myself, then that likely leads to a latent (if not overt) demand of it from others. Sooner or later, it comes out, surprising me perhaps more than anyone else.

Often the pathway to such things is revealed to us by someone else, someone who has travelled the path themselves. This can be one of the more beautiful things about sharing our humanity with one another — certainly a form of confession.

Self-compassion often seems like some of the very smallest of choices — like getting out of bed (or staying in it), listening to what you’re feeling, not judging yourself / just noticing (so much of our lack of self-care is just not noticing), going to church (and...not going), eating something good for us, going for a walk, etc.. Much of which could be included in one broad category of just 'taking the time'.

...which is mitigated by our sense of not having enough of it (time). Always being in a hurry, needing to get something done, heading something off, etc. It is counter-intuitive to take time, when we have an innate and growing sense that we have less of it left (at least that's what I'm realizing I've been doing).

Compassion requires time.

The irony is that Fletcher started this ball rolling...just by getting older. The prospect of inevitable death sometimes enables us to more fully embrace what it means to live in the time we've got.