The problem with wanting to move forward is that not everyone is on board. I have plans. Direction. A tempo in my head. And then there is my puppy, who remains standing in the middle of the path because apparently a branch today is more important than the future.
Sometimes I wonder who is actually going too fast here. Me, who is always a few steps ahead. Or he who doesn't have to go anywhere and doesn't find that problematic at all.
I especially notice it while walking. I walk. He investigates. I think about what still needs to be done, he thinks about what smells now. And every time I gently pull on the leash, he seems to say: Why rush when it's fine here too?
Maybe that's what frustrates me. Not that he is slow, but that he is in no hurry. No end point. No planning. Just this stretch of sidewalk, this grass, this moment.
I want to move forward. He wants to stay standing. And somewhere in between something awkward happens: I have to choose whether I want to move on or wait a while.
The strange thing is that I thought parenting meant teaching him my pace. But more and more it feels like he's trying to tell me something else. That speed is not a goal. That progress does not always mean that you are further along than you were yesterday.
Maybe I'm going too fast. Maybe he's not too slow. Maybe I'm too far ahead.
And very occasionally when I stop pulling and just stand next to him it strikes me that there is nothing wrong with where we are. That moving forward can also wait. And that standstill, every now and then, looks suspiciously like just right.
