I gave my dog Stella a bath the other day. We had gone for our morning walk and she got a dingleberry. When she feels a dingleberry dangling, her reaction is to quickly sit down and try to reach back to remove it, but the result is that the dingleberry gets smashed into her fur.
I’ll spare you any additional detail, but at that point a bath is necessary. I took her straight to the bathtub when we got home.
Stella really doesn’t like baths. As soon as I carry her into the bathroom she starts shaking. She looks up at me with her 10 year old puppy dog eyes when I set her in the tub, as though she wants me to know that she’s not mad, just disappointed.
There is a resignation in the way Stella allows me to give her a bath. As if a part of her knows that this really is for the best, but that she’s not going to enjoy it. She doesn’t try to bite me or jump out of the tub, she just stands there trembling as I turn on the shower and let the water warm up.
I give her my best encouraging monologue of positive affirmations, “Good girl Stella, we’re going to get you nice and clean, this is going to feel so good, let’s clean your paws…”
I do think it makes a difference. I have also started trimming her fur in key spots like around her eyes, her paws, and her butt while giving her a bath. Normally she is very wary with scissors and I will quickly see her “I am about to bite you if you don’t stop that right now” face when I try to trim her outside of the bath. I think the water running helps distract from the trimming.
I get it. I can be very resistant to change. I have my own snarling recoil reaction when someone tries to force a change on me. I often find myself snarling at myself – split into the part of me that wants to make the change and the part of me that knows the discomfort that comes along with it.
Sometimes I find myself resisting until I can’t resist anymore, until the resisting part of me is worn out. Until I am washed in the warm water and my fur is wet, the crust is softened, the dirt is loosened, and I can allow the excess to be trimmed away.
When it rains it pours, and when the time comes that internal stagnant constipation can pop free like a champagne cork. I feel it both creatively and emotionally. I guess they are related, aren’t they? Sometimes it takes something as clear and present as a dingleberry to knock over that first domino. Only then do I notice how long the fur around my eyes has grown, blocking my vision, how my paws have turned from white to gray and become matted.
Stella allows me to scrub her with the dog shampoo, to trim and comb the crust from under her eyes. I watch the water turn gray, and then soapy, and then run clear. I create a small pile of crusty fur clippings. I turn the water off and I can see her relief. She knows the worst of it is over.
I wrap her in a towel and carry her to my bedroom, where I have the hair dryer and some treats ready. As I dry her I do some more trimming, but carefully. She can easily reach her limit, but one snip at a time, more positive words, and a treat, and we make good progress.
Change can be sudden – one moment dry and walking in the sun, the next plunged into torrential waters. It can be slow and gradual, taking time for rest and snacks as needed. I recognize that the hand of fate will put me in the bathtub sometimes, seeing the dirt and crust that needs to be washed away. There is often nothing to do but recognize and allow the process to happen.
This is not a one time thing, but a cycle that repeats over and over. If you are living, you are getting dirty. Your fur will grow and tangle. Dead skin cells will accumulate. The dust and dirt will coat your feet.
The moment Stella is dry and I give her a final treat, she prances off, rolls around in her blanket, and runs around the apartment with her little stuffed Siberian Husky toy named Slush.
You know that feeling, don’t you? When a weight has been lifted? When you can feel that the process is complete, and you can run free?
Just like that, the downpour becomes a memory, a fading dream, and you can enjoy your new haircut.
I went to a sea chantey sing along event last Sunday. I have been fixated on chanteys lately. There is something so stripped down and real about them. I definitely romanticize being a sailor or a pirate, the archetype of the brave explorer out on the ocean. A terrifying and brutal life, and one that requires full commitment. You can’t be a work from home sailor.
There are so many powerful sailing metaphors – the endeavor checks all the boxes: spatial and distance changes, weather and time changes, a tactile environment full of ropes, wood, metal, and machinery, sea creatures and birds. Relationships and hierarchy between people in an enclosed environment.
The sing along event was on the deck of a historic sailing ship at South Street Seaport in Manhattan. I went onto the boat along with around 30 other sea chantey nerds, and the singing began. I had prepared a song called Lowlands Away. I had first heard it on the soundtrack of the video game Assassin’s Creed, Black Flag, a pirate themed game. I didn’t play the game, but my friend sent me a youtube video compilation of all the chanteys from the soundtrack, which I listened to many times over the years, especially during times of change. You can listen to my chosen chantey below at 41:21: https://youtu.be/uicC2MUZ24I?si=JSckHqDAwY5E7pa2
I have been chipping away at my stage fright these past few years, and I feel pretty confident getting up in front of people at this point. I don’t judge the other singers who whisper-sang their chanteys that day. I know the feeling of wanting to be seen but wanting to hide at the same time, but I will admit that it felt really good to be able to stand up and belt out at full volume.
Looking back, I can see that I have indeed changed. The repeated trimming away was not just aesthetic, it was at a soul level. I have trimmed away the overgrowth again and again, sometimes gently and gradually, sometimes painfully, leaving scars. It has allowed me to reveal my essence and get to know it with all its nuances and contradictions.
What other choice do I have? I can now say that I truly love my weird wonderful authentic self, and so I begin to sing at the top of my lungs:
I dreamed a dream the other night
Lowlands, lowlands away, me John
My love, she came, dressed all in white
Lowlands away
I dreamed my love came in my sleep
Lowlands, lowlands away, me John
Her cheeks were wet, her eyes did weep
Lowlands away
She came to me at my bedside
Lowlands, lowlands away, me John
All dressed in white, like some fair bride
Lowlands away
And bravely in her bosom fair
Lowlands, lowlands away, me John
Her red, red rose, my love did wear
Lowlands away
She made no sound, no word she said
Lowlands, lowlands away, me John
And then I knew my love was dead
Lowlands away
Then I awoke to hear the cry
Lowlands, lowlands away, me John
Oh, watch on deck, oh, watch, ahoy!
Lowlands away