I am rubbish at being in the present moment. My brain runs on hyperdrive, worrying, planning, and obsessing. I can go for a ninety-minute walk with Emma and not be able to tell you how the air smelled, which flowers were blooming, and how the sun looked when it finally broke through the mist. When I notice this happening, I look to the dog.
Emma raises her head and sniffs, so I sniff too; the air smells like fog and California lilac, with a hint of jasmine. The golden yarrow and purple lupine run riot over the hills. Emma gets purple lupine petals embedded in her fur and becomes a little free love hippie dog. Small critters skitter away as we approach, sensing a threat. My dog, the big bad predator, prances down the trail, head high, ears bouncing, butt fur swaying.
She follows a scent trail, weaving in circles and figure eights, nose to the ground. I stop to watch. She suddenly lifts her head and freezes, peering into the woods; I look too and see the herd of deer standing very still, watching us. Emma caught their wild horsey smell. The deer gave us the side-eye, not alarmed but very much aware of us. After a moment, the deer flow through the shadows of the trees and out of sight.
Emma pauses to nudge and poke a salamander with her nose, taking in its cold blooded scent. I crouch down with her to peer at it, amused by its undulations, left, right, left right, indifferent to the big dog nose snuffling its tail.
Being present is freedom. It allows you to start moving thoughtfully and deliberately toward what is important to you. This is the most valuable work: not moving away from problems, but towards what matters. As Mary Oliver said, “what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?”