Twice
in the last week, I’ve encountered the term existential dread.
One
young woman described this state as “fretting over my non-existent influence on
the world.” As she struggled to make ends meet and balance her passion
for activism, she found herself exhausted.
When we feel overwhelmed, it’s easy to question our self-worth or impact. We may find ourselves in the victim’s chair, wondering how we got there—again. Or we fall under the wave rather than surfing its crest.
What’s
important to remember is that our perception can shift in a heartbeat. It
can flip, just like a coin tossed into the air.
Two weeks ago, my husband and I were walking the loop around a nearby pond. I’d been feeling pressured by the immense project of rebranding and launching a new website.
The challenge of finding simple words to express the Life is Coaching You principle loomed large. How
could I explain something so experiential, so alive, so unique to each
individual?
To
do so, I would have to be open to Life coaching me. I checked in. Was I listening?
Did I trust that the way would appear? Would I follow through
patiently on a task that felt like climbing an endless mountain with a full
backpack?
In that moment, a white, curly-haired puppy on a leash rounds the curve up ahead. He’s excitedly sniffing the air and joyously jumping through fallen leaves.
His
owner walks slowly, watchful and smiling, letting the little guy fully
experience the park’s sights and smells. By the time they reach us, I
can’t wait to meet this pup.
As
I always do, I ask the owner if that would be OK.
“Absolutely,”
comes the reply. “He never understands when people don’t want to
say hello. Makes no sense to him.”
Four-month-old
Biscuit leaps up to greet us, though his height at full stretch barely reaches
our knees. He licks our hands, and jumps back and forth between us. We
can’t help but laugh and play with Biscuit.
There it is again, I realize. The flip.
Can
you picture a dog fretting over his influence on the world? Or worrying
about how a website’s message could reach its audience?
Not
a chance. Life is too fun, too full, too rich, too utterly
enthralling! A dead leaf on the ground is a cause for celebration.
After a time, my husband and I move on, and Biscuit continues his exploration.
Now comes the critical moment.
Do
I return to existential dread? Or do I take the opportunity to release
the old for the new, to step across the threshold into a state from which
everything can be viewed with wonder?
Dozens
of these choices—these open doorways—present themselves daily. They may
not all be as obvious as Biscuit, but they come.
Puppies
don’t care if they matter. Because they just do. And so do
we.
