The Jurisdiction of Joy

I know. I know. It’s been awhile since Beau put his paws to the keyboard. I’m glad today he hit the keys to remind me about the value of play!

Beau: (Stopping mid-trot, tail flagged like a victory banner, looking back at me with unmistakable judgment. Dang he’s good at that!) You’re doing it again.

Me: Doing what? I’m walking you. We are walking.

Beau: No, your feet are moving, but your brain is stuck in the trenches. I can smell the ink from here. You’ve got that Mutiny face.

Me: It’s important work, Beau. Dismantling noble lies is heavy lifting.

Beau: Yeah, well, all moping and no loping makes for a boring Louise. Look at the ocean. Look at me. I am currently a masterpiece of mid-stride perfection, as captured in the photo you finally remembered to take. Frankly, your camera roll is five thousand pictures of sand, sea, and sky, and nary a recent one of me.”

Me: I take tons of photos of you!

Beau: Historical archives don’t count, Louise.

Me: Wow. Are you seriously jealous of the sky, Beau?

Beau: I’m a supermodel, not a monk. Of course I want the lens. But more importantly, I’m tired of you staring at the wet sand like it owes you money.

Me: I’m practicing mindfulness.

Beau: You’re practicing brooding. There’s a difference. Sovereignty doesn’t mean you have to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders 24/7, Louise. Sometimes it means you drop the leash of your own grand narrative and chase a piece of kelp.

Me: Are you lecturing me on my own brand?

Beau: I’m auditing your energy. And right now, the audit says you’re over-invested in the grim. You want to rebel? Rebel against the seriousness. Now, throw the damn stick before I find a dead crab to roll in to make things interesting. Oh and next time, would you puhlease remember to bring the ball and chucker. Your stick throwing capacity is as weak as your joy-bone. With the call and chucker, at least there’s a fighting chance it’ll go somewhere other than at the sand beneath my feet!

Sigh… Why does he always have to be right?

The fact is, it’s easy to get so consumed by the work. The caregiving, the fight, the writing, and the sheer volume of the “Third Act” work that I forget the basic physics of play. Beau isn’t bound by the noble lies or the heavy narratives. He just knows that a Sovereign who forgets how to play is a Sovereign who has surrendered her joy.

Gotta go. It’s time to lope.