It’s not Italy. It’s a puppy.

Ten months ago I was hitting the wall. The pandemic wall. Thework from home and live at work wall. The kids wall, the one where everyone needs me and I’m running out of things to give wall. The I’m tired of living with chronic illness wall. 

I have a short fuse to begin with but at this moment in time it was practically non-existent. I felt pent up, frustrated, and exhausted. Everything was getting on my nerves, and I felt overwhelmed. 

The analogy I use to describe what my overwhelm feels like is that scene in Elf when Buddy’s in the elevator. He gets in and he presses every single floor button and every single button lights up. Except it’s not all shiny and pretty like a Christmas tree. It’s a strain to have every single light on. It feels like a fuse is going to blow at any second because I cannot sustain lighting all of these damn buttons at once. 

I was overwhelmed on the daily and something had to give. I was seeking out counselling because I desperately needed some help. 

And then it happened. 

In the depth of my despair and overwhelm and seeking counselling for it all we decided to get a dog. A puppy, at that. And the crazy thing is: It was my idea. 

Right after we made the commitment I knew it. I regained my senses. I quickly entered all of the stages of grief. I bargained hard with my partner – we need to exit this deal. I grieved what I knew inherently what I had just given up by adding another toddler into our household mix. 

But it was too late. I just made a lifelong commitment to a dog and he was coming to live with us whether I liked it or not. 

I should know all about accepting life’s circumstances. I’ve had a traumatic delivery with my first born and I have lived with chronic illness for a third of my life but this is something different. 

It’s as if I sabotaged my own sanity. Like I went and undermined myself and added another brick of stress to my already hunched shoulders thinking it was a cushion of clouds. On paper the dog is supposed to bring joy and reduce stress, but a puppy doesn’t do that.

I can’t help but look back at this thing and unravel it and wonder (and wish) that things didn’t come together as they did and that this sweet pup didn’t come into our lives. I often look back and long for how things were but I lose perspective looking back all the time.

It’s possibly easier to be in pain and linger in the suffering and say that it was better before. When we’re in pain we can’t quite see what a new experience is giving us because we’re focused so certainly on what we’ve given up and lost.

But, as time as worn on I have come to adopt a mantra: This is my life now.

If you have read Welcome to Holland it does a wonderful job capturing what it is exactly to readjust your expectations to your reality. The essay goes on to explain that in life we have hopes and expectations akin to a fabulous trip to Italy. But in reality, sometimes our plane is diverted to Holland which also is beautiful, but it’s not exactly what we envisioned or what we had planned.

In my case this dog is not Italy. It’s a puppy.