Sometimes Nothing is All You Need to Do

Midlife has taught me that sometimes Nothing is all  I need to do.  It wasn’t always like that — in my 20’s and 30’s I felt compelled to DO something.

Fix myself – fix my boyfriend, get a new job, get promoted, buy a house, buy a car, train for an athletic event (hello LA Marathon!), etc.  The list was endless and I — along with most of us — was a proverbial hamster on the wheel.  Constantly doing and not getting anywhere.

Yet. today I realized how changed I am, how midlife has taught me that I don’t need to DO.

My friend who lost her Pug, Lucy, finally sat in my office to tell me the sad tragic story of how Lucy died.    We both had work to do but in that moment, there was nothing I wanted to do other than listen.    There was nothing I could say, nothing I could do and I didn’t try.

I sat, I listened, I cried.    Nothing can relieve the raw pain of loss … but a friend who is willing to be there might offer some comfort and love.

At this point in my life, I no longer feel inadequate because I didn’t do something big, something great, didn’t try to make her feel better or minimize her loss.

No, I feel grateful that I am finally mature enough to know that being fully present for her and supporting her in her grief was the perfect action to do.

RIP Lucy

A friend’s dog died today.  She was hit by a car while chasing the family’s cat.  Lucy wasn’t my dog but she was my favorite office dog.

She was a pug, an alpha diva pug.  Any new dog in the office had to accept her rank and position or there was hell to pay. Very quickly, employees learned that Lucy went psychotic when another dog was picked up in her presence.

Nothing personal mind you; she just tried to kill the other dog.  She kew our office was her domain.  After all, she was the Original Dog in the Office.

She was sweet and smart and in all her quirkiness, I liked her.

And she’ll never come into our offices again.

In a split second, her life — and her owner’s life — changed.

Life’s like that, isn’t it? Going along at its usual pace and then BOOM! Something is forever changed.  There’s no rhyme nor reason — some of the changes are positive; some are negative.

Lucy was loved, cherished and adored.  It is this knowledge that her owner finds comfort in.

For me, I think about the BOOM — on an ordinary Monday, on an ordinary start of the work day, an extraordinary event happened and now there’s a hole in our office, in our hearts, where Lucy once roamed.