Shoes, Devils, and Dogs

What two characters from my youth taught me this week

And then sometimes, it can be as simple as this.

A moment in the kitchen—when two characters from my youth rose up, unbidden in my mind.

The first was the Tasmanian Devil from Bugs Bunny fame. Ferocious, wild, dim-witted, and short-tempered, Taz spoke mostly in grunts, growls, and raspberries and often left big swaths of destruction in his wake.

The other was about as different as could be: Mr. Rogers. Kind, whimsical, intentional, leisurely.

The way he took off one shoe.

Then the other.

The way he zipped his sweater.

Every moment was a moment for him. To settle in. To savor. Mr. Rogers cared more about love and presence than he did about efficiency.

He wanted to show us that how we moved from there to here mattered—that we didn’t have to rush. He showed us what life could be like if we gentle the transitions.

He also wanted us to know that how we talk to one another matters.

And more than that, how we listen to one another matters. To listen is to lean in and be wholly present to and for someone else, especially when they are afraid or hurting. To listen is also to be curious, to learn something we hadn’t known before.

It is perhaps no surprise that I thought of these two characters in my kitchen—where I’m often flying from one task to another—and often spilling, dropping, or breaking things as a result.

As Ferris Bueller said, “Life moves pretty fast,” and all kinds of voices in our lives praise efficiency—from Anais Nin’s “Good things happen to those who hustle,” to “just do it,” and “git ‘r done.”

So, we tornado through life, bouncing along with this almost unstoppable energy, impatient and wild in a way that leaves us feeling like we are continually being spun around and spit out.

Don’t get me wrong. Efficiency can be important. Modern life demands it.

But we also need to recognize efficiency as the grunting devil it is. It is unmysterious. In its hurry to get on to the next, it never rests in the now. It never pauses, opens, to see what is here. Right here.

Knowing which energy I usually live into, and which energy I long to live into, I took a deep breath in my kitchen. I bent down to take off my shoes like I was Mr. Rogers.

My fingers unknotted the knots.

How easily they came undone when I moved with ease.

I slipped off one shoe.

One sock.

Then the other shoe.

The other sock.

My bare feet on the cool wooden floor.

I closed my eyes.

A quiet bigness.

A big quietness.

Who knew what might arrive in that stillness?

Claws click-clacked on the floor.

Birdie pressed into my right leg.

My hand dropped to her silky head.

We stayed.

And breathed.

Here.

Now.

Love.