Much of my free time is spent walking and hiking with my dogs.  One of my dogs is pretty typical, ears perked, looking ahead for what’s next in the adventure, pausing briefly to sniff something interesting, pee on it, and keep moving, all “cool, cool, what’s next?”  My other pup, my hound girl, follows her nose through life. Walking with her is all about pausing.  She’s all “yeahhh, I’m gonna stop here to identify the past 8 dogs and three humans who visited this spot, so if you wanna come back for me in about 10 mins that would be great, then we can stop up there in the cut-through to the field because 3 deer, a coyote and a bunny passed through between 2:15-4:00am.  Oh, then in about a quarter mile, I’m going to find two moldy petrified french fries that someone tossed away a month ago, and I’ll be enjoying that snack before you can stop me.”   Frequently during our walks, I end up striking some sort of scarecrow yoga pose, one arm outstretched to the front with the eager dog, the other arm outstretched behind me with my stopper.

Like a typical pet parent, I tend to anthropomorphize my pups. I mean, don’t we all give them voices and assume they think like us?  But it has dawned on me while out walking that perhaps some of it is the other way around. Perhaps we are a bit like them. I assume that none of us are peeing on things before walking away, nor are munching on road kill fries.  However I know most of us fall in to one or the other category:  the “keep-moving-let’s-hustle-what’s-next” folks and the “dawdle, slow down and soak it all in” people.  I know that I am an innately Scurry & Scamper type, but a Dawdler Wannabe.  I know this not only because family and friends point out my consta-movement, but because I get frustrated with my hound.  I have actually had to train myself to count to 15 – 30 when she stops before I give her a tug, because why shouldn’t she be able to investigate her world?  Can’t I spare just an extra 5 minutes total?  And that’s when it hits me that it would do me good to pause longer and look around, to just “be” in any given moment.

I’m guessing that the majority of R.W’s out there fall into the keep movin’ category. We are predisposed to getting things done, taking care of others and being as productive as possible (hello, you multi-taskers).  Those of us who are the most oddly dedicated to scampering feel like slowing down is a sign of laziness.  But those of us who have learned the less rushy way of life know it is far from lazy.  It is calming and healthy.  That’s why I want to embrace a bit more of that lifestyle.  Another R.W. and I recently had a heart-to-heart about how the older we get, the more we want to slow down and enjoy life a bit more.  I’m not saying a busy bee doesn’t enjoy life –  heck, like my one dog, being alert and scampering can be pretty darn fun and filled with excitement. But what might we be zooming by?  I was in college when I first hear Ferris Bueller’s famous quote: “Life moves pretty fast. If you don’t stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.”   Darn right, Ferris.  Then off I ran.

We all strive to “stop and smell the roses.”  I think this phrase has morphed into a bit of a condescending guilt-laden version of Ferris’ point.  I do believe the scamperers among us certainly see and appreciate the flowers along the way, may likely pause and say “oh, isn’t that pretty”, maybe take a quick photo, then move on.  However those that prefer to really slow down are likely to give it a sniff, perhaps marvel at the colors and patterns on the pedals, discuss the species, look for more, and may snip one to take home to enjoy for a longer period of time. 

Sure, we can blame the chaotic pace of life around us for our habits. Faster and more demanding deadlines at work, the immediacy of social media, technology that makes everything happen quicker… let’s face it, I could have asked ChatGPT to write this blog and it would have produced something in just about 45 seconds. (P.S. never gonna happen) But until robots truly take over, we are humans. We have the choice to step off the Crazy Train from time to time and slow our roll. To think for ourselves, to do as we wish. To embrace our inner dawdle.

On this morning’s walk, I took the dogs down a path of freshly fallen snow. One person had clearly been there before us; their footprints were straight as an arrow along the edge of the path, out and back. No variation, no appearance of stopping. While my pausing pup was sticking her snout into the snow to find what lay beneath, I looked behind and chuckled to see our paths in comparison.  Ours were meandering, criss-crossing and messy. 

Perhaps I’ll get the hang of this yet.