I walked out my front door at least 20 times today and went absolutely nowhere. Daisy’s separation anxiety has basically trapped me at home while I figure out which method and combination of training works best for her. It isn’t just about correcting the problem that she barks like a broken record when I leave her and Lolli alone; she’s going through some pretty traumatic and real emotions too, and those can’t be ignored.

So in between crate training and working on the computer, I stand up, grab my keys, and exit, then stand there for 5 to 10 seconds, walk back in, put the keys down, ignore the dog, and sit back down to work. The idea is to make leaving no big deal. By the third time I’d gone out, Daisy got smart and positioned herself in nap mode in front of the door.

I don’t blame her for how she’s feeling. She’s a rescue and was literally scooped up one day by her former owners and dumped off at Animal Control with the order to “just kill her.”  This after they’d never let her go outside and fed her up to an enormous 85 pounds. The ride across country and a few days of kenneling and a new environment has no doubt had an effect on her.  No wonder she’s reacting to my own emotional circus right now, too.

The dogs and I have a definite psychic connection. I found out just how strong it is when I left them with a friend to attend Marianne Williamson’s latest lecture here in LA. Five minutes before I returned, both of them started jumping up and down, barking and getting excited like they do when I come home.  It wouldn’t have seemed nearly so strange except for the fact that I didn’t drive my car ~ it’s obvious they weren’t reacting to hearing that familiar sound from 2 or 3 miles away.

Daisy’s clearly responding to whatever separation anxiety I’m feeling. And here I thought I had that whipped. I mean, this isn’t my first move out here and it was that detached, lonely and disconnected mindset, real or imagined, that always did me in. That combined with very tangible logistics of starting over, including everything from changing jobs and making ends meet to becoming adept at navigating a city where it can take 20 minutes to go one mile, left turn green lights barely exist, banks don’t have drive-through ATMs and every single intersection requires the ability to observe pedestrians from one side of your peripheral vision to the other. Don’t even get me started on the fact that you just can’t do a quick stop at a fast food restaurant if you need go to the bathroom. If you do find a place, there won’t be any parking. After being forced to pee myself ~ twice ~ I’ve learned to ration my fluid intake. That, however, is another story for another time.

My point is that the same emotions and upheavals that affected me back then are still present now. Though tempered by experience and maturity and trust that all really will be fine, they are partying their ass off at 4 and 5 am when I wake, when I check the bank account, when I sit here too long in my own little space. I’ve had a lot of people tell me that I’m brave or bold for coming out here, leaving what I know behind, coming to a city that is known for being a difficult place to meet people, starting over.

No. I am not these things. I am not brave, or strong, or bold or courageous. I think those words belong to those people who sacrifice something of themselves for the good of others, even in the midst of their own terror. Brave is fighting against drug or alcohol addiction. Courageous is giving everything you’ve got up against cancer. Bold might be walking half a block in sight of a starving, deranged looking stray pitbull, which I did earlier tonight. But I think that’s probably more like stupid. What I am is more difficult to define than those honorable adjectives and not nearly so admirable. I came out here because I got tired of being scared. I got tired of being depressed and feeling hopeless and hating myself for being all of those things. I came out here because I got tired of ignoring the nagging pull on my soul that tells me there’s some sort of path I’m supposed to be following. I came out here because I knew in the core of my being that if I continued to live a life that in my eyes felt like I was playing it safe and practical and therefore cheating myself out of whatever unknown wonders lay ahead, then I might as well be dead.

There is nothing practical about this move and that is the first thing I tell people when they ask me why I came. It wasn’t for a job, it wasn’t for the weather, it wasn’t for a guy (though I don’t seriously know if I call that practical either). I’m here because I decided to throw logic to the wind and listen to intuition and meditation and all the illogical, unexplainable miracles and forces at work in my life. I came, ultimately, because for over 16 years I’ve lived with one foot on each side of the threshold, watching myself go in and out the door of yearning. It was simply time to make a choice before all doors closed and there were no choices left to make. I came because I was tired of hearing myself bark. It was time to start believing in myself, logic and practical, straight and narrow be damned. The truth is, we can do anything if the yearning is strong enough.

Turn On Yor Light.