So I know that last week I became engaged to Iced Coffee, but I have a new love that has supplanted him: Roxie.
Here she is:
Now, she only weighs 7 lbs, and is also a dog, but I am ridiculously in love. Just look at her PLAYING IN THE DRIVEWAY!
(That is my mom saving her from eating mulch at the end)
In all seriousness, I was a bit nervous about meeting my parents’ new puppy when I came to visit them this week. As you may recall, we lost our family’s beloved 14-year-old black lab, Jazzy, back in August. It was a lot harder on all of us than I had expected – even my brother and I, who don’t live at home anymore, were devastated. So while I was excited to meet this new family member at my parents’ this week, I also felt weird – would I be constantly comparing her to Jazzy? Was I a bad person for wanting to meet and love a new dog when we had just lost such an important part of our lives?
Well, it turns out that while there have been some bittersweet moments when I still miss my old girl, Roxie, like all dogs, has her own separate personality, and loving her is as effortless, in its own unique way, as it was loving Jazzy. Despite the fact that Roxie has these SHARP LITTLE RAZOR TEETH OMG I FORGOT PUPPIES TRY TO EAT EVERYTHING INCLUDING YOUR NOSE AND FINGERS.
Welcome to extended family, Roxie! You’re my new love! (Sorry Iced Coffee 😦 You’re just not as cuddly as Roxie is, and also you occasionally make me jittery.)
So anyone who has been reading my blog is aware that earlier this year I wrote a book. It’s a memoir about my time as a chicken farmer in Kansas. Ok, so that’s a lie, but it is an actual novel, with words and sentences and characters and stuff, and after writing it I was like, “Huh, I think this is ok. I will try to get it published!”
Then I went online to learn about publishing, and cried because all the articles said, “Oh, you want to get published? Never going to happen – HAHAHA #BYEFELICIA!” And then I was like, well, screw this, I’m gonna try to get a literary agent anyways because I HAVE DREAMS.
I started querying (if you don’t know what that is, thank your lucky stars and move on with your life) and I was this dog:
Publishing is a crazy business, and the more I queried and the more I read about queries online, the more I needed wine and a nap. Then, something miraculous happened – I was referred to a couple of wonderful agencies, and they read my book and wanted to represent me! When I was given this information, I was this guy:
It turns out they were serious, and I said, “Are you aware that I’m a dog who has no idea what she’s doing?” I actually only said that in my brain; outwardly, I pretended like I was confident and also that I am a professional human non-canine who knows things. It was only 20% totally awkward.
Then I had to decide, and I was like, THIS IS AN EMBARRASSMENT OF RICHES (FYI: it took me four tries typing “embarrassment” before I got it right; thanks, spellcheck. Yep, I’m a writer.). And then I decided, and now I have an agent, and she is wonderful! I’ve signed with Sharon Pelletier of DGLM, and she’s fantastic and funny and gets my book, but now I’m worried she’s going to see this blog and ask, why did I sign on to represent a dog who has no idea what she’s doing and also lacks opposable thumbs?
I don’t know, Sharon, but you’re stuck with me now. Sorry!
So that’s my writing update. As you might be able to tell, I’m pretty psyched. I’m also scared, because I’m a dog who has no idea what she’s doing. But honestly, aren’t we all that dog at some point in our lives? I think that’s the moral of this blog post, and maybe the Bible, too. Peace!
P.S. A completely unrelated shoutout – Happy 30th Birthday to my girl T of Tears. Sweat. Sea. WE ARE GOING OUT TONIGHT! I know I’m a dog, but I can still drink wine, I promise.
I’m currently visiting my parents in my hometown in New Hampshire (go…granite? And…cows?) as part of my summer “funemployment” travels. One of the best parts of visiting home, other than seeing my family and friends here on the East Coast, is hanging out with my old black labrador retriever, Jazzy (née Jasmine – yes, after the Disney princess. SHE HAD GREAT HAIR, OK?).
Jazzy is fourteen years old this month, and still almost as energetic and as sweet and hungry for treats as ever. She’s an extremely comforting presence to all who meet her, and she is possibly my parents’ favorite child. She’s also approximately ninety-eight years old in dog years, and our family is aware that we don’t have much time left with her.
This awareness was intensified this weekend, when I was petting her and discovered a large lump on her right flank. My parents took her to the vet on Monday, and found that it was cancer, specifically a mast cell tumor, common in older dogs. Despite her age, the vet recommended surgery as she’s in good shape otherwise, and it was scheduled for the following day. Though anxious about our beloved pet, we all felt good about this course of action and relatively upbeat.
However, about an hour after her appointment, I was petting her again, this time on her left flank, and, lo and behold, what should I feel there but another lump, this time with two nodules, that felt exactly like the cancerous tumor I had discovered on her other side. My parents and I promptly lost it. Jazzy, unaware of why we were all freaking out, simply went to each of us for her usual round of head scratchings, probably thinking to herself, “God, these humans sure are weird. Can I have a treat, please?”
Everything turned out ok – we took Jazzy in the next morning for surgery, and they simply removed both tumors, and told us it’s likely that this will be the end of it. She was hilariously high on pain medication last night (she would be a terrible companion for a pub crawl), and is pretty exhausted today, but the vet says she could live another year or more of high-quality life if no more cancer crops up. Here she is this morning in one of her favorite spots, her crate, dozing from the pain meds – you can see her scar on her belly if you look closely, as well as the white patch on her leg from her previous bout with cancer seven years ago (yep, this literal bitch is a literal 2x cancer survivor):
This whole incident, however, got me thinking about how I judge myself based on my emotional reactions. After I discovered the second tumor, I was numb, and then angry, and then I sobbed. I could barely sleep Monday night, and was a wreck most of yesterday from lack of sleep and anxiety about how Jazzy was holding up in surgery. And all the time I was experiencing this flow of “negative” emotions and sensations, I was berating myself for feeling them. “She’s just a dog,” I thought to myself. “Other people in the world are suffering horrible tragedies like earthquakes and starvation and Donald Trump running for president, and you’re literally losing sleep over a fourteen-year-old quadruped who’s already lived beyond the average lifespan for her breed. You’re a ridiculous and stupid white girl.” I apologized to my mother when she saw me crying. My parents were great, supporting each other and me by saying “it’s ok to be sad, we love her – old dog or not.” I still couldn’t shake the feeling of guilt, however, over being “too emotional” over something that was “not a big deal.”
Once the surgery was over and Jazzy came home in good, albeit dog-drunk, shape, my relief allowed me to make the connection (my therapist would be proud!) that trivializing my emotions, regardless of their cause, is a pattern I’ve engaged in my whole life. I used to get so upset at work when I was stressed or when someone said or did something unprofessional or mean, and then get even MORE upset by the demon voice in my head which told me I was overreacting or being unreasonable. Society in general teaches us to suppress or hide “bad” emotions, like grief, anger, or frustration, especially when the cause of these emotions isn’t justifiable by some arbitrary standard. Inconsolable because your ninety-year-old grandfather died? Well, he lived a long life, what are you crying for?! In a rage because some sexist jerk at work made a joke about the size of your ass? Happens to everyone – no need to make a fuss – also, you might want to consider losing a few pounds! Depressed because you got divorced? Better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all!
Any of this sound familiar to anyone?
Don’t get me wrong, I don’t think it’s necessarily healthy or feasible for people to go around constantly weeping or screaming or otherwise giving full vent to every single emotion in public. But I do think that we harm ourselves by judging certain emotions as “bad” and then encouraging, if not mandating, that we suppress any expression of these emotions, even in public or professional settings. I think it can be appropriate, even useful, to cry at work, for instance: one of the best moves I ever made in managing the relationship with a client was telling him that he had made me cry (he had berated me in a meeting in front of forty people). When he truly realized how his actions had made me feel, our entire relationship changed – it became more honest, more respectful, and more effective. By the time I left the company, he was my favorite client – all because I let him know, with my words AND body language, how angry and sad he had made me feel with his behavior.
Lol looking at this post it seems sort of weird to go from talking about an old dog with cancer to crying at work, but to me the connection is important. It’s ok for me to cry about my sick dog. It’s ok for you to be angry with a mean coworker and to express that anger appropriately. It’s ok to laugh out loud when something is really fucking funny. It’s ok to be a real, whole human being, and not a robot or a Vulcan.
If you’re reading, I’m interested to hear about your own experiences – how do you deal with strong emotions in tough situations? How do you remain authentic to yourself in a society where authenticity is often touted but rarely embraced?
I hope you have a great week. I’m off to pet Jazzy – she’s milking this “I had cancer! Pet me!” thing for all it’s worth!