Comparison is the thief of joy

#95 - Being present in this precious moment.

Thick chunks of hot gravel crunch beneath my barefoot shoes as I walk the dusty access road to the local river with Young Juice. His presence is jovial, fully in the moment. Sunlight washes my mind as Andrés Segovia noodles in my headphones, when mid-stride a thought pokes my awareness.

Comparison is the thief of joy.

Wait, why am I thinking this now? Instantly I mentally retrace the moments before…

Was I just unconsciously comparing myself to someone I saw on the internet, inwardly storytelling how they’re better looking and more deserving of love than I?

No, actually, I wasn’t. All that energy work paid off, and I know now how I am enough. So I kiss that phantom goodbye, and wish it on its way with a quiet blessing. Let it be the last time it will visit a mental realm where it is no longer needed.

So then, if it wasn’t that… was I trying to convince myself again how I’d feel much better if I had more money in my bank account? Or how I could only be truly happy if I lived in my own home with my own art studio on community land with more room to stretch out?

No, actually, not this time. Because I recently came to understand that what I have is always more than enough. Another phantom thanked and dismissed.

One song ends, and the next begins. Segovia’s fingers pluck strings in erratic time, and I call back the memory of the day I realized I’d never be at peace within myself unless I could honestly say I am grateful for everything I have. Even if to others it appears I have nothing but a van with a bed in it, and a couple of sweat-ringed, holey t-shirts.

Swinging the steel farm gate closed behind us, I wrap the chain around the post, tucking it back into its cow-proof notch, and the dog sprints for the river. He knows no greater joy than this moment. Trembling with anticipation, he looks back from the edge, the sun sparkling in his almond eyes.

I am grateful for everything I have, I think to myself as I watch him shifting, waiting for the OK to jump in.

How could I ever expect to be grateful for what I want next, if I don’t truly appreciate what I have now?

How could any other moment be better than this, here, right now? Because in this moment I am here, imbued with the loving force of life, right now.

I yell, “OK GO,” and the dog barrels into the rushing water. His stance is short, but he’s strong enough to root in against the current where he lands. He turns back my way and waits for me to throw a stick, but instead I start running down the trail, hollering back for him to catch me if he can.

And within only a few seconds, he’s back out of the water, up the bank, and hot on my heels. He always catches me. The kid is a true powerhouse, built to sprint.

I slow my gait and bend to pick up a stick which he tries to steal from my hand before I can regain my stance. But I knew what was coming, so I snatch it away from his chomping jaws while exhaling a deep belly laugh. One day he’ll be gone and I’ll still be here. This moment is everything.

“I know your tricks, boy,” I tell him. Segovia’s fingers are dancing, and the dog’s paws are too. Naturally, we are all made to move.

Now he’s decided the anticipation is too much, so he barks, telling me he’s ready to receive his prize. I throw it, and he charges with singular focus as if his stick were a rabbit racing to shelter in the woods. This dog can’t be anywhere else, he knows only one thing.

Yet, somehow as he runs, I allow my mind to betray this precious moment. Suddenly it drifts to another place. I’m now thinking about a bill still due, and as stress strikes my chest like a lightning bolt, I’m no longer present with him on the trail.

We’re outside, but I can feel the walls closing in, trying to trap me in an unnatural capitalist nightmare. I reach for a stronger stick to wedge between them, but there isn’t one. Fear drowns out the music in my headphones. Who is the phantom now?

But he patiently waits, staring back at me, breathing truth. And as I draw a breath deep into my own belly, my eyes find his again, their dancing lights pull me back into the ecstatic moment we are co-creating. I can hear the strings vibrating again.

I am human, and he is dog, so my mind can wander elsewhere if I allow it. Yet he reminds me what full presence looks like, without ever speaking a word.

He doesn’t compare this moment to any other, nor does he worry about anything else while we walk. He’s here in the purest way possible, and I recall now how I’m supposed to look to him whenever I need a reminder of what presence looks like.

“Heel,” I call out, and immediately he dashes over and parks his tail on the ground at my left foot. Tossing him a treat, he jumps with joy, and I bend over to give him a hug.

Comparison is, indeed, the thief of joy, I think to myself again, as I scratch his head. And somehow the music now feels like an unnecessary distraction from the purity of this moment, so I peel my headphones off, resting them around my neck.

I breathe in, tilting my eye toward the sky, and in this moment there is nowhere else I’d rather be.

I am grateful for all I have. And I won’t forget again, how I always have more than enough.

I won’t forget again, how I am enough.

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Wishing you love, my dear friend. See you back here again soon,