I took this slightly blurry photo yesterday morning.

It’s not the best photo in the world. If you look closely, you can see lights and fencing for the athletic field by the tree in the foreground.

But I choose to focus on the beautiful sky. It was breathtaking.

This. This is why I wake early. (Credit to Mary Oliver for that phrase, which I love…)

I could focus on the lights and the fencing, but the sky is so much more.

Why not focus on that, instead?

Sometimes, though, seeing what we want to see, or seeing what we think is there (even if it is not) is not a good thing. I was reminded of that later in the morning, when I reread an email from my mom. I had read it the night before, and (to keep this short) thought she was giving me permission to do something when I had not asked for that.

Instead, she was actually supporting what I chose to do, and there was no element of “permission” in the email.

I thought it was there because that’s what I thought she’d do, based on what she’s done in the past.

I saw what I wanted (or expected) to see, instead of what was there.

A good lesson for me. Again.

Oh, just when I think I have it all together. Just when I’m feeling good about where I am, about what I am doing, how I am doing it, and with whom I am doing it, life throws a curveball.

We had to say goodbye to our sweet Simon puppy on Monday morning.

It was one of the hardest and most loving things I have ever had to do.

I can tell myself that it was time, he was in pain, it was the right choice, and the loving thing to do.

But oh, it still hurts.

And it hurts even more because I feel  like I just took it for granted that he would always be there. A connection between me and my husband, even when we drifted apart from time to time. There were always Simon stories. Pictures of him sleeping on the couch. Pictures of him begging for a taste of pulled pork, or peanut butter, or just wanting a belly rub.

And now he’s not there. I hadn’t seen him as much the last few months – what with not traveling to see my husband as much (winter weather, schedules, other reasons…), and again, assuming that he’d be there when I could go.

This, plus a few other things going on, make me wonder how much I have taken for granted in my life

We get so set in our ways, we get so used to the status quo, the way things are, that we tend to think they’re never going to change. The dog will always be there, my parents will always be just a text or email away… and so on.

But of course that’s not true. I think we sometimes need this painful reminders that all of life is temporary, fleeting, that our current place in this world is not going to always be our place in this world.

And this reminder left a particularly gaping crack in my heart… one that will take some time to heal.

But perhaps in healing that Simon-sized hole… perhaps I can become more present in my everyday life, taking less for granted, and making sure I appreciate the ordinary everyday as it is now. Because it won’t be this way forever.

Oh, Simon, we loved you so much. You were really the perfect dog, from the minute we brought you home. Well, except for the time you ate the snickerdoodle cookies from the Amish bakery. And maybe when you chewed up your crate beds when you were trying to send us a message. You were steadfast, and loving, and just the best dog ever. We miss you.

I finally realized that if I want to connect – or re-connect – with people, then I might have to, you know, actually do something. Like reach out to them. My mindset was that yes, I wanted to connect with people, to make friends and rekindle old friendships, but that it was the other person’s responsibility to initiate the connection.

What, did I think they were going to read my mind?

I finally had to get over myself – and what I admit is a strong fear of rejection and / or inadvertently offending someone – and just, well, reach out.

So far, some successes and some misses. In the sense that I haven’t heard back from people I emailed, or messaged on Facebook.

But I’m trying to be okay with that. I reached out. I said what I wanted to say – for example, in one case, an apology for ghosting someone years ago – and it’s now up to them to determine if they want to get back in touch with me. But I certainly feel, well, better, for having at least sent the damn email.

I can say I want to connect but then hole up in my little apartment. I can say I want to have friends but then… never go anywhere, or accept any invitations. It doesn’t work that way. Putting myself out there is hard – particularly for an anxious introvert, ha! – but I hope it will be worth it.

To put it even more simply…