An Autumn Walk with Emmy 10.20.24

It’s a beautiful fall morning in central Virginia as Emmy and I take our usual walk. Like many mornings on the Lake at this time of year, a heavy fog begins to lift. And as the sun slowly warms the landscape, I know we are in for a beautiful “Indian Summer” day. 

I let Emmy off leash so she can explore. I watch as she walks into the ditch along the road and drags her tongue over the cold wet grass, stopping to sniff and investigate a particular odor now and then. Watching her do these things brings me tremendous joy.

Towards the end of our walk, I have the following thought – Emmy is seven years old, which means that in six years she may no longer be around for these walks. And I become little sad. But I become particularly sad for her because she has no idea that our walks together are numbered. She is blissfully ignorant of this fact, meaning that she is living in the moment. Many books argue that this “living in the moment” is one of the secrets to happiness.  But I believe that statement is too simplistic.

When I realize that these walks are numbered, I treasure them even more. Several years ago, I read that gratitude is the key to joy.  But how can one have gratitude if one has not suffered in the past or know that there will be suffering or loss in the future?  And this is the big one – the acceptance and proximity of death itself brings the greatest joy, because paradoxically, you are more likely to be grateful for the time you do have, cherish it, and more likely to live in the moment.  As I take Emmy’s harness off at the end of our walk and I look into her big brown eyes, I give her a big hug. She looks at me with a quizzical expression. Don’t worry Emmy. We are both living in the moment, but for different reasons.