I’m undertaking a 1000-day reinvention project, blogging here daily to track my progress. In Saturday Reflections, I take time out to reflect.
The situation with my dad’s dog has deteriorated. Instead of getting desensitized to my cats, Kristy seems increasingly sensitized and aroused by them. When she sees them she gets excited, stares at them, gives chase if possible. Even worse, my dog Bo is joining in. Kristy and Bo corraled my cat Carlos under the dining table. He couldn’t escape without humans intervening. They seemed playful but chasing a cat can turn into something dangerous, especially with an activated hunting dog like Kristy.
Bo has always been accepting of or even indifferent to the cats, even if he occasionally playfully chases Jessie when they’re all running to get dinner.
I really wanted to make this work, but I had to tell my sisters and father that it wasn’t going to. My house has turned tense and untrusting. So Kristy is going to New Orleans! She’ll live with my older sister, who has just one dog, and that one only part-time. No cats allowed for Kristy!
Ray and I will be driving Kristy from Denver to NOLA, possibly with Bo along for the ride. The weather has been so unseasonably nice that Ray had already been talking about planning a road trip. When my sister said she was up for taking Kristy, we raised our hands to help.
I have doubts and fears about this plan. When I told Gemini that I felt scared about it, it responded that I’m just following my reckless philosophy:
The “Reckless” philosophy you are writing about isn’t about being a daredevil who feels no fear.
- Reckless (in your context) means rejecting the need for a “perfect, optimized” outcome.
- Reckless means taking a messy step forward because staying still is impossible.
- Reckless means trusting that you can figure it out on the road, even if you don’t have a map right now.
I have wished there were a better outcome for Kristy. I wish she weren’t an overly energetic obsessive hunting dog. I wish my dad weren’t too frail to keep her. I wish New Orleans were ten hours away, not twenty. I wish the road trip timing wouldn’t take me away from time with my adult son and daughter, who are in town right now. But part of my reckless style of living is to meet life as it is, not as I wish it would be.
Sometimes the Universe brings solutions that you didn’t expect. My sister Allison was already in town with her car when this played out, having driven here with her two kids for Christmas family time. When she said, “I don’t know how I’ll get Kristy to New Orleans,” I scratched my head. “Drive her?” I said. But her small car was completely packed with people and luggage on the way here. There wouldn’t be room for Kristy and her stuff too. Allison’s driving her would mean she would arrive back home without any time to prep her house for a new dog’s arrival.
Ray and I are both retired, giving us freedom to take a four- or five-day road trip almost any time we like. We’re both dog lovers. Ray has a super-nice pickup truck that will be the perfect dog transport vehicle. And, other than a snowstorm projected for Sunday, the ten-day weather forecast looks clear of precipitation.
We’ll have our first New Year’s Eve together on the road, and might be back just in time to celebrate Ray’s milestone seventieth birthday a week from today. I can’t think of a better way for him to mark a year of retirement (he retired last year on his birthday), having just completed a fun and meaningful adventure with his new love (me).
Yesterday at Casa Bonita, Ray and I did a couples reading with the Tarot reader. The card he drew was Wheel of Fortune, a card of kismet — destiny and faith. The Wheel says we cannot control the universe; only ride its currents.
By retiring last year, Ray gave over the reins of his life to the universe to do with him what it might. He let life happen to him. He made himself open to chance, notably by joining dating apps and sending messages. He and I hit the jackpot together, finding each other at the time that our life courses and lifestyles align.
Ray is almost always in motion; he has momentum, like a wheel turning. He skis; he bikes; he drives anywhere he needs to be for those he loves. At the same time, he is solid and centered, like the hub of a wheel. While chaos flies around him (my dog, my dad’s dog, my cats, my many family holiday events, my dad’s rehab stay) he provides steady calmness. He is both the hub and the turning wheel.
Soon the wheels of Ray’s Tacoma will turn as we live out our joint fate, taking this opportunity to be of service to my father and sister, to spend long days in the car and nights in motels together, to ride the wave of the universe like surfers feeling the exhilaration of power and movement and celebration.