Jane St. Anthony
Imagining a Path
On an icy winter morning, a sleek dog of indeterminate origin—somewhere between Rin Tin Tin and a yearling—trotted on the sidewalk, purposeful but obviously confused. His head turned from left to right, searching. He crossed the street behind my car, speeding up when he saw me. He resumed his purposeful, heartbreaking walk on the other side of the street.
He was lost and afraid.
Who isn’t lost, at least sometimes?
One day or for a long, long time, it seems that you—like the dog—wake up and can’t imagine a path to what you want or what it is you want. You can’t see directions or any affirmation that you know where you’re going or, in the dog’s case, where home is.
The dog was trying to be brave.
It’s difficult to do that—pretend to be brave—especially when you feel like crumpling.
The dog was reunited with his loved ones, I hope. I wasn’t brave enough to chase him on the ice.
Sometimes it takes a very, very long time to see what we want, where we want to be or, like the dog, how to get there.