Letter 59: Stop, Wait, and Start Again
When we change course
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Happy last Wednesday in July!
I can’t believe the end of July is here, which for many of us means it is nearly the end of our summer breaks. I hope that you are able to enjoy these final days of sweet summer, even if you (like I) are stuck in this unrelenting inferno that is Texas.
As I prepared Andie Smith’s letter for publication today, I was reminded of John Steinbeck’s really great memoir/travelogue Travels with Charley, his book about traveling around America with his standard poodle Charley. I love reading about adorable, floppy dogs, and Gus (Andie’s standard sheepadoodle) fits the bill.
Unsurprisingly, I also love a good metaphor, and Andie delivers. I couldn’t help but think of another *amazing* dog metaphor from When Harry Met Sally, as presented below. I love it, and I love that when our hearts and minds are tuned just right, we can untangle some of the deepest truths about life from unlikely places. —Emily
“Everything we feel, we have to put into words. Sometimes, I just want to feel things.”
I can assure you no one knows how much I have floundered trying to figure out my 20s more than my dog, Gus.
I got Gus- an 80-pound (!!!) standard sheepadoodle—as a college graduation present and as my sidekick to the master plan that was real-world adulthood: we were going to move to Denver and hike together every weekend as I worked toward my doctorate in clinical psychology. It was fool-proof!
In reality, we did move to Denver, alright—and have hiked maybe three times (traffic was too bad), two times of which Gus was actually able to join me (dog training was too bad). I was rejected from every psychology graduate program I was legitimately interested in. After six months in Denver, I was rejected from one last program I had applied to in last-ditch efforts to buy myself time to put down roots and gain more work experience.
Everything had gone to sh*t—not one plan I had made worked out, I was completely directionless, and to top it all off, my dog was terrible on a leash. Already dealing with debilitating burnout and doubt after working two mental health jobs, I wondered if this final closed door—despite years of hard work—had been a sign it was time to move on.
“What the hell do we do now?!” I asked Gus. A man of few words, Gus implied in his way that he in no way cared as long as I kept a stable supply of bully sticks in the dog drawer. I metaphorically interpreted Gus’s answer to my plight as this: Work can just be work and a privilege that allows for roofs over heads and drawers full of bully sticks. My whole personhood is not defined by a career; rather, it is defined by the things and people I love. (And, of course, the constant presence of bully sticks, as Gus would wager.) Young people are so often advised to commodify their passions. I realized that my deep care for people I thought was supposed to define me is allowed to be an element of myself that I protect and nurture so that my tank is full so I am able to help those around me.
So, Gus and I embarked on a new journey together: I was going to start over, and I was going to teach this damn dog not to pull on a leash.
Thus began our daily walks.
I read articles on how to stop dogs from pulling. I memorized the steps: stop walking at the slightest pull and reward your dog with treats when he walks at your hip. Stop. Wait. Start again. So it tediously goes until you walk in step and your dog no longer has what I like to call “big emotions,” when there’s another dog across the sidewalk.
These training sessions with Gus, I realized, mirrored my own life. I had spent so much time being a leash-puller myself, tugging relentlessly onward without pausing to think maybe I was being held back for good reason.
(Gus, I hope you’re reading this—I swear it’s for good reason!)
I needed to slow down: to stop, wait, and start again. As Gus learned to slow down, so did I. In doing so, I was finally able to think clearly about who I really was and what I really wanted out of life, a career, and a future—that is, until Gus saw a squirrel on the sidewalk. We then quickly very quickly sped up.
It’s been six months since I changed course from psychology, and I won’t pretend that I have it figured out. I am, after all, still a twentysomething, who will spend the next two or 10 or 50 years ebbing and flowing, oscillating between passions and versions of myself. I have found a new job in a field that I love in which I am gifted with time and resources to continue growing up and growing into myself.
As for Gus, we’re still working on our “big emotions,” but we’ve mostly figured out how to walk in step these days. For now, I’m focused on slowing down and just enjoying the views—that is, until we see a squirrel.
Andie’s Five Favorite Things
The New York Times Spelling Bee game. When Wordle isn’t quite enough to satisfy my daily spelling game fix, Spelling Bee hits the spot- it usually keeps me thinking all day and I’d like to think it teaches me new words and therefore makes me smarter despite being a smartphone/desktop game.
“I Know I’m Funny haha” by Faye Webster. I have had this album on loop since it came out last summer and I’m still not tired of it- this album pairs great with cooking dinner or hosting friends for cocktail hour.
Madewell necklace sets. I have tried to become a jewelry girl as of late and layering necklaces makes any outfit look more put together and fun- Madewell has a huge variety of cute, stackable jewelry and I cannot get enough lately!
Everything Everywhere All At Once. I was lucky to get to travel to Austin, Texas, and see this movie with two of my oldest and best friends at the Alamo Drafthouse where we laughed and cried and felt all the things- required viewing for all!
Black Cherry Waterloo. Something about black cherry Waterloo consistently tricks me into thinking I’m enjoying a soda or bubbly cocktail, and I literally have to have one once a day to maintain homeostasis.
Gratefully,
Andie Smith
P.S. At our happiest, charting our own path, and learning delight.
And yet again a 20-something teaches a 50-something some things. Great piece. Never stop starting again.