I know this dog named Boxin. Every time I go and see him, he gets really excited and soon he brings me this terribly ragged, filthy ball. As I go to throw it, I can see his rippling anticipation just barely contained. I can throw that same silly ball for two hours and he will tirelessly jump three feet in the air as he perfects his athletic ball-catching abilities.
But you see, I often have much more important things to do, like erasing the spam messages on my phone, speculating about my goals, analyzing politics, or justifying my point of view to someone for no particular reason. Wondering if these shoes go with these pants, or if my hair looks too fluffy today.
And there he is, patiently and yet enthusiastically waiting for me to throw the ball, the highlight of his day. At that point, there is this part of me that wonders “Am I really the smart one here?” Boxin naturally know how to enjoy himself, to get along without major disturbances. He knows how to love and be loyal. He knows how to be happy with very little.
He won’t be waiting until he gets this promotion or that car or have loads of money in the bank in order to be pleased and content with his life. He doesn’t stand in front of the mirror and analyze whether his fur ought to be a different color or whether he ought to suck in at his midsection. He isn’t trying to rescue the world. He would just like it very much if I would throw him the ball, and that is that.
I think if he had one thing to say, it would probably be along these lines “Let’s enjoy a little time together. Let’s enjoy being alive”.
Someday when I look back on my life, my greatest treasures will be the time I had with those I love, and how wonderful it was to experience being alive.
I like to tell myself that this is the message Boxin is trying to bring me, in the form of a ragged, filthy, torn ball.