I woke up early this morning and stared at the dog. He sleeps at the foot of our bed, and while I'm sure dog behaviorists are probably cringing at this fact, his being there, where my toes can feel him and where I can hear his little Schnauzer-ish snorting at various points through the night, makes me feel just a little bit better about the world. He's accepted us as his family, and I kinda like having him close by.
So in the still-dim light of the gathering dawn, I watched his ears subconsciously twitch to the sound of a single bird in the bank of trees across the street, and wondered what he was dreaming about. It seemed like one of those moments worthy of a mental snapshot, if only because they don't happen as often as we'd like, and because they seem to disappear into history almost as quickly as they first present themselves.
I don't do this early-morning observation thing nearly as often as I should. If I'm up early - which is ridiculously often of late, as evidenced by this tweet
, this one
and, oh yes, this one
- I'm usually in motion before my feet hit the ground. These pre-dawn workfests usually involve furtive writing sessions in the kitchen, darkened drives to a deserted parking structure downtown, and interviews on-camera or by phone with not-so-random media folks across the country. Which doesn't leave a lot of time to slow down and pet the dog while he snoozes. Or just stare at him as I did this morning.
I really need to change that. Because things have been brutally busy lately. And as a result I've had a lot of early-morning wakeups over these past couple of weeks - hence the relative silence here on the blog - and not enough moments where I slowed things down enough to appreciate the moment. I love this media-centric, tech-filled brand/career/life that I've built for myself and my family, but sometimes I think I need to hold onto the day-to-day of it all a little more tightly.
Because someday we all run out of moments. And I'd hate to think we didn't grab them while we had the opportunity.