We're Just Mammals Together

On reminding my dog she doesn't have to fear people

“It’s a friend.” I pick up the pace so Faith the poodle doesn’t fixate on the person coming down the opposite sidewalk.

Her lips are already pursed in a sort-of-growl, but she looks up at me. I say “Yes!” and pop a treat in her mouth.

She looks across at the stranger with great suspicion.

“Yes! A friend!”

She looks at me.

“Yes! Good! Say ‘Good morning, friend!’” Treat. Repeat.

It can be tedious, and it’s annoying to have to be “on” from the moment I step out of the back yard with Faith. But I hope this daily intervention will rewire her nervous system, bit by bit. I want her to feel safe.

The poodle at rest. That’s part of rewiring too.

It might take thousands of intentional walk-bys and several pallet-loads of treats before she sees that strangers aren’t automatically a threat. It might take years. That’s OK.

Because reassuring her that everyone is a friend is good for my mental health too.

My nature tends towards anxiety. I was cripplingly shy as a kid. In any social setting, I gravitated to the dog poking his nose through the neighbors’ fence, or the cat that also wanted to hide from the hubbub, or failing that, the book I brought with me. Or failing that, the daydream in my head.

It felt much safer there. Like Faith, I was afraid of people.

And now fear and division have been harnessed in service of a political agenda. We’re taught to look across with mutual mistrust. It’s classic divide-and-rule technique, with rampant scapegoating of the “other” to turn our focus from corrupt would-be leaders.

So I’m glad for these reminders that, here on the ground, we are just mammals together, with more in common than we might realize.

Sometimes that’s hard to remember. It’s hard not to be mad at/afraid of people who blindly follow someone who’s been convicted of sexual assault and fraud, who used his influence to incite an insurrection, who exploits base tribalism to get what he wants.

Still, I don’t want to fear the pleasant neighbor down the street, who stretched a huge “Take America Back” banner across his fence. I’d rather focus on the fact that, ever since he moved in, he’s remembered my name from one hello, and he unfailingly greets me by name over that very same fence.

He’s a neighbor, not an enemy. Someone’s beloved brother/son/uncle/friend.

Now, that doesn’t mean there isn’t real danger in a future “taken back.” If you look at the things hardliners are poised to implement if the presidential election goes their way, there’s rational cause for fear.

And anger.

There’s already so much bad policy in place, and it would only get worse. Laws that ban life-saving medical care for women are not theoretical. The targeting of my trans loved ones, also very real. Our nation’s full history can no longer be taught in many schools. Then there’s the greed-driven, nonstop desecration of nature for profit. What I would consider the most horrifyingly anti-Life agenda.

So yes. The triggering, the rise in blood pressure, the urge to fight or flight—there’s justifiable cause.

But here’s something I’ve learned from teachers like Resmaa Menakem and Prentis Hemphill: A calm and settled nervous system is a much more effective changemaker.

So I try to remember to allow my outrage or fear to move through me, then ground and return to my center. Adding more anxiety and anger to the mix won’t serve anyone, and it won’t change anything.

When I see some of the inflammatory memes posted by my lefty Facebook friends, I cringe, even though I understand the impulse to lash out at followers of a dangerous demagogue. It feels misguided to poke at “the other side” with scathing posts about how stupid and racist and backward they are.

Do we want to enjoy a dopamine hit of justifiable righteous anger, or do we want to dial back the outrage and calm ourselves enough to invite people into a space of potential learning? Realizing that, as this Yes magazine article says, people are much more complex and nuanced than we might imagine, and there’s always room for growth and change.

Maybe there’s a way to meet folks with something along the lines of: “Good morning, friend”?

I once read that Van Jones tries to find common ground with the people he interviews. Even if they disagree on just about everything, he finds a way to project appreciation of the interviewee as a human.

I’m no Van Jones or Resmaa Menakam or Prentis Hemphill. I’m not great at hard conversations and I’m still learning how to settle my nervous system. But at the very least, I can refuse to let my fears and baser impulses guide my actions. I want to do the necessary rewiring (alongside Faith) to give people the benefit of the doubt.

And I pledge myself to the open door, in the belief that if someone has lost their way, joined a cult, they can still open their eyes and return home, where they won’t be scoffed at or shamed for falling prey to a dangerous manipulator.

They’ll be welcomed back.

Practice Space

“The action that I take from a centered place is always going to be more powerful than the action I take from reactivity. It’s going to be more rooted in my power.”

Prentis Hemphill said this on a recent episode of the We Can Do Hard Things podcast. The conversation affirmed something that I tend to forget in the rush to act: How we do the thing (e.g. working toward a “blue wave”) is just as important as what we actually do.

This week I realized I had left my center, bigtime. I got an interesting visual for this. I saw myself wearing an armored suit that propelled me forward, pressuring me to move from a sense of obligation that stemmed from fear. The weight of this suit was pushing my head forward and crushing my shoulders and generally misaligning me (body and soul).

No wonder I was so cranky and overwhelmed.

So. I melted it down and transformed it into something more helpful. A light and nimble sword. Not to be used to cut people down (see above), but to guard my boundary, to cut through anything that isn’t serving me. Any obligation or nattering worries, for example. Any rabbithole I don’t want to go down.

Centering feels more possible with this sword in hand. I feel lighter. Instead of being driven by some external pressure, I can move from my heart. My heart can always discern the best way for me to engage.

I don’t know if that makes sense to anyone but me, but it was this week’s somatic therapy insight, so I’m sharing. And you? What images or practices or reminders work for you, when it comes to centering and listening to the heart?

Savorings

Mom and I went to CatVideoFest at a local art theatre a few weeks ago. A compilation of Internet kitty videos to raise money for a local cat shelter! What a great idea!

I mean, who doesn’t love giggling at endless clips of cats being cats?

The theatre was packed on a Wednesday evening, with young kids and parents and older folks jammed in. It was a fun hour of collective guffawing (and “awww”-ing). The videos were from all over the world, from cities and farms and everything in between.

There were intriguing glimpses into cat-people’s homes in farflung places—their clutter or tidiness, their desks and exercise rooms, etc. There seem to be many cramped rooms where cats wreak havoc!

It felt so tender to see that people everywhere have a great love of the feline and aren’t afraid to show it. From the shirtless bodybuilder who paused in his lifting to pretend-box with his kitten to the men who, one by one, ducked in a doorway to allow a cat to pat the tops of their heads.

In times like these, I’ll take any unifying moment.

I leave you with Eddie, the handsomest of them all, up on top of the kitchen cabinets trying to figure out how to get down.