#7. Focused Intention/Mindfulness/Put the Blinders On.

“Mindfulness must be engaged. Once there is seeing, there must be acting. Otherwise, what’s the use of seeing?” ~ Nhat Hanh

This is something I aim for, being aware, focused, capable of thinking through a situation before making a decision. It has always been a struggle, my busy mind, fleeting dreams, ever-changing goals. Staying the course is a flag on Mount Everest type goal. Being the lover of glitter that I am, there are a lot of shiny objects that steal my attention and therefore make focusing a challenge.

Pip, the Siberian Husky that I fell in love with when I decided that the kids and I should treat a visit to the pet store as an anti-depressant, was the opposite of #7.

In fact, a text message from my Stepmom went as far as to say she would “shoot me” if I got a puppy. Little much, but, in all fairness, I guess I wasn’t aware of the hints from the universe on the matter. Let me paint a little time line for you.

Monday: Visit #1, fall in love with puppy. Leave pet store without her.

Eye is a bit red and itchy but, I also had a head cold so think nothing of it. Feeling sad and I want to be snuggling that ball of fluff on the couch, especially since I do not feel well.

Tuesday: Tell hubby a million times over the course of the day how much I want said puppy.

He reminds me of my upcoming surgery and the 6 weeks the doctor wants me to take it easy.

I resend the photo of puppy.

Spend way too much time searching the internet for cute puppy names. Decide I will name her Pip.

Tell Hubby I picked a name for her.

He reminds me that since I have been watching my twin nieces during the day, there would be no one home to train said puppy.

I remind him her name is Pip.

After I get the kids off the bus from school I am still sad. We go to the library. Books make me happy.

With a million titles in tow we load into the car. This cure-all did not work. I ask the kids if they want to go look at puppies. They all cheer. Duh.

Visit #2 at the pet store.

Hubby asks where we are and I tell him we came to play with Pip again. He sighs.

A little while later he meets us at the pet store.

After an hour or so, Hubby has paid the fee to allow us to take Pip home and see how she fits with our current animals.

My eyes are starting to itch again, darn cold, I think.

Within five minutes of Pip’s arrival to the Csordas abode chaos, at an above average level ensues. I smell smoke. Turns out I preheated the oven with the leftover birthday cake the kids made me, which was so delicately placed on a piece of cardboard, covered with wrapping paper. Flames are now pouring out of the oven as I fling the door open to see what the fuss is all about. At the same time as the kitchen fire, smoke detectors blaring, ADT calling to ask if they should dispatch the fire station, the Hubby is yelling from the backyard that my sweet ball of fluff has fallen in the pool. Off to a stellar start, as always.

We regain control, our strong suit, but I do not refrain from sneezing, watery eyes are now promenade among the reasons why the universe is against me. For a brief moment I contemplate the fact that I may be allergic to my dream dog.

The time is up. Pip has to go back to the pet store. She did well with all factors, aside from failing to identify the large hole in the backyard that is the pool, but the idea that I was most likely  allergic to her amazing fluffiness, made me heartbroken.

Finn was hysterical, yelling that we were taking his best friend away, flailing in my arms as the Hubby and our oldest daughter left for the journey back to the mall.

I cried. Let me follow this up with a very factual statement. I am not a dog person. The fact that his dog had a hold on me was confusing at best.

The duo came home empty-handed,  one of them also crying.

It was just too much.

For a couple of days I continued to call the pet store to check her status, cry and sneeze.

When I texted a good friend a crying face emoji regarding the whole situation, she replied. “Those aren’t tears, they are called allergies.”

Pip, whose name at the pet shop was Rose, has since found her home.

I am not even sure why I felt compelled to share this but I think it has a lot to do with avoidance and looking for healing in all the wrong places. Would a puppy have brought love and laughter, snuggles and bursts of serotonin? More than likely. What I failed to acknowledge is the chewing of the new sofa or the house training mishaps that would lie ahead and happen at the most trying of times. You see, I sort of see my life and choices like a game a Jenga. I often know in my heart that pulling out that wooden rectangle isn’t going to make the tower stronger. Not to mention the task of stacking it back on top, adding pressure and weight, trying to make it all aline so it doesn’t come crashing down, it’s a gamble. Pip, despite filling my happiness bucket in the moment, was not a viable Jenga piece. One you test out with your finger, pushing a little to see if it will push back or give in. She was a filler for the emptiness and disconnect I have been feeling and in the end a deterrent from the end game I would like to see take shape. A shiny object interfering with the goal.

Being mindful, intentionally focusing, and putting on blinders doesn’t mean the answer has to be no all the time, it means you have to take time to choose the best yes. As I intend to say yes as often as possible this year,  I also intend to be mindful in understanding where each yes will take me and if it is a path that’s in alinement with where I hope to be at the end.

Staying the course is tough, my friends, let’s encourage of one another.

Cheers to keeping our blinders on so as not to miss what is on the path before us,

Jenn

 

 

 

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s