I hope you and yours are doing well. Summer, though it’s still technically Spring, is almost in full force in South Texas, and my husband and I are excited to take our three-year-old to the beach (albeit a Texas beach, lol…) next weekend. I am actually scared to death of open water and won’t get in the ocean past my knees, so I’m hoping Isaiah will be content to just splash around and build some sandcastles! (I saw the movie Jaws at too young an age, I think…) This month, I wanted to share a little lesson my fur baby, (another three-year-old) Zelda, taught me last week. I was working out in the garage and was expecting her to return the tennis ball to me so I could throw it for her for the six-thousandth time. When a few minutes had passed and she hadn’t come, I shouted for her, then stepped out of the garage and saw her limping toward me from under the giant oak tree where she likes to beat the heat. She was favoring her front right paw, and, thinking she’d stepped on a sticker burr, I lifted it and felt around. Nothing. Then our puppy, Jocko, who’s already bigger than 75-pound Zelda, trotted up and nosed Zelda in the neck, urging her to play. She gave him a low warning growl; she was not in the mood. “It’s okay, girl,” I said before shooing Jocko away. “Keep resting your foot.” I gave her a pat as she lay down, then returned to my workout, already thinking of when I might drive her to the vet the following day; she looked so pitiful lying there, her sad puppy-dog eyes communicating something along the lines of, “Booboos are no fun, Mom.” To my surprise, by the end of my workout not half an hour later, Zelda was back in the garage, yellow ball in mouth and black tail wagging. Evidently, her foot had been miraculously healed, and in record time. “You sure you’re okay, Zelda?” I touched her foot, gently at first, then lightly squeezed it, checking around for tender spots. Not once did she flinch. Just to be safe though, I didn’t throw the ball for her, but instead brought her inside so as to ensure Jocko didn’t provoke her into a doggy wrestling match and that she didn’t bolt after any squirrels or birds and reinjure herself. Zelda’s “injury,” or at least, her care to avoid injury, made me consider the good it would do me, and all my fellow humans, if we’d slow down the second we felt a distressing twinge, physical or otherwise. How much frustration, how many complications, might we prevent if, at the onset of pain, we dropped what we were doing and gave ourselves a little TLC? What if we didn’t “power through,” but instead chose to power down? I couldn’t possibly begin to count the number of times I’ve tried powering through when I knew I was physically injured or emotionally and mentally drained. It’s never paid off, but on the contrary, resulted only in more pain, exhaustion, and oftentimes, anger towards myself for my “failure” to recover and adapt in spite of the wounds and weaknesses I knew full well I had been wrong, and perhaps arrogant, not to address. Now I must take a moment to brag on my husband, Ben. He is one of very few people I know who listens to his body, even when it whispers. When he feels run down, he goes easier during his workouts. When he has a crick in his neck, he goes to the chiropractor and avoids movements that could exacerbate it. When he has a scratchy throat, he immediately begins taking immune-boosting supplements, goes to bed a little earlier, and, once again, does lighter workouts than normal. I believe this is why he very seldom gets sick, and when is he sick, his recovery is remarkable speedy – though not as speedy as Zelda’s… I encourage you to listen hard to the signals your body and soul may be giving you, even now. Don’t drown them out. Don’t ignore them. Don’t try to appease them with metaphorical Band-Aids. Respect them. Listen to them. Power down instead of through. “It’s very important that we re-learn the art of resting and relaxing. Not only does it help prevent the onset of many illnesses that develop through chronic tension and worrying; it allows us to clear our minds, focus, and find creative solutions to problems.” – Thich Nhat Hanh