The dog was amped up for the morning walk on Thursday – or maybe it was Wednesday. As soon as we stepped out the door, a squirrel ran across our path. I made Kimbrough sit and settle down, but when we started again, he was pulling and a little bonkers. I imagined fireworks of adrenaline going off in his brain in those first few seconds. We went back inside and tried again. Sit, wait/stay, open door, stay, ok – go, sit, good boy, good boy, wait, good boy, sit, treat, good boy, ok-go.
Despite the reboot, the walk didn’t get much better. We had to pass some other dogs and I know he lunged at something (though I can’t remember what – probably a rabbit) and pulled enough that I had to scold him and force him to sit, settle, and look at me. From then on, he sulked and pretty much ignored me every time I called him. Stubborn (both of us).
When I was in grad school training to be a teacher (and substitute teaching) our classes and practice and discussions placed a lot of emphasis on classroom management, establishing the classroom expectations early, and the importance of sticking with, and reinforcing, those expectations. It’s generally accepted that the first few weeks of school can set the tone for the rest of the year – and on a smaller scale, the first few minutes of any class can set the tone for the rest of the period / day. Setting and managing expectations can take weeks if not months and some teachers try to follow a don’t smile until Christmas policy.
It’s not just in teaching or on dog walks. The importance of good beginnings is hammered in to us at freshman orientations, in statements like breakfast is the most important meal of the day, in learning to write, in building a solid foundation, and in meeting new people. We’re constantly reminded of the importance of good starts and making a good first impression (on dates, on interviews, in meetings). Make eye contact, firm handshake, dress appropriately, use and read body language, smile, be open and warm, be curious, listen, speak well, etc. etc. We’re told that it’s much harder to improve things, like our GPA or a bad impression, when we get off to a rough start. As early as our first lessons in how to write – probably somewhere in elementary school and certainly reinforced every stop along the way, we’re told to begin with something that grabs the reader’s attention – draws them in. Though looking back at my first sentence, I did a terrible job of this.
As someone who has spent the last few years in various stages of beginnings (blogging, jobs, relationships, places I’ve lived), I’ve had to give a lot of consideration to the importance of starting off well, starting over, authenticity, and what makes us persist or walk away. Mixed in with those considerations is the psychology of growth, progress, disappointment, and a little Zen Buddhism. I once knew a building manager who would intentionally leave something unfixed for the building inspectors to find. He said it’s an easy enough fix and if they don’t find something to mark down on their report, they’ll look extra hard for it. This seemed particularly astute, if not a little manipulative. But…. when I think about some of my “life failures” – those things that didn’t work out, the ones that stung the most were almost always about the disappointment that comes from unrealistic or unbalanced expectations – from someone having made too good of an impression and there being little room for failure.
If I’ve come to any conclusions, it’s that good, effortless, and sincere beginnings – the ones that just feel right – are rare. What makes it all so messy is that relationships (work, family, friendships, romantic) always involve other people, always involve this intricate dance of sender and receiver – making impressions and being impressed upon. There seems to be a genuine risk of inauthenticity in overvaluing first impressions, in putting our best foot forward – as though the other foot (clubbed, gnarled, misshapen, and anything other than best) – might not get us what we want. To continue (and mix) the foot metaphor – there is also the very real possibility that even if we lead with the other foot (the other shoe people later expect to drop), that the receiver of first impressions will see what they want to see – rose-colored glasses and all.
I can’t deny the value, wisdom, and importance of good beginnings. But when I consider the fact that nothing is permanent – no relationship (work or other outside of family) has lasted my entire life, I’m forced to better appreciate the messy starts, the triumphs over minor and major adversities, the rise, fall, and rise again of daily existence. There are those who feel life is too short to revisit and revise – for them, it’s a bit of a one way street – always new experiences around the next corner. There are those that feel life is too short not to turn back once in a while – some things are worth the work, some experiences are worth repeating in all their iterations. For me, this is again about living in the spaces in between. Wisdom seems to be about knowing when to apply which approach and that both will get you somewhere – a sort of acceptance that every moment is a departure and an arrival, a beginning and an end.
By the time we were done our walk, I was frustrated and thinking about how it could have gone differently. The more I thought about it, the more I became convinced that when our walk gets off to a bad start, it’s probably only going to get worse. Seldom do I consider we could just not walk – change course, reverse if necessary. Seldom do I stop and accept that maybe we’re doing just fine – no need to improve, this wasn’t our moment. Instead, we’ll each dig in to our various positions – insisting our way is the right way to go. I want him to obey. He wants to do his own thing. This is always where relationships go awry. Two species trying to understand each other – trying, in that moment, to make it work, to have some sense of control. And every day, every walk, we get the chance to try again – or not.