What my dog has taught me about presence

July 8th – The lake is quiet. My gentle boy watches the morning like he owns it. 

Somewhere between the soft splash of waves and the smell of pine needles, my dog taught me how to be here. Not perform, not strive, not rush, just be.

This post isn't just about him. It's about presence. About the kind of love that asks for nothing and still gives everything.

I used to think I was good at being present. I journaled. I meditated. I read all the right books and highlighted all the right lines. But it was my sweet boy, silent, grounded, a little stubborn who showed me what presence feels like.

It smells like damp moss and morning air. It sounds like paws on wooden steps. It moves slowly, like a stretch after sleep. It doesn't ask for anything in return.

My dog doesn't chase productivity. He doesn't care if the to-do list is finished.
He pauses at every flower. He watches the sky change. He listens to birds longer than I do. And somehow, his life is full. Not because of what he achieves, but because of how deeply he notices.

Perhaps the greatest lesson is this: He loves me when I'm quiet. When I'm tired. When I feel a little broken. He doesn't need me to be perfect. He just needs me to be there.

And isn't that what we're all learning to do? To simply be there for ourselves, like a dog waits at the door, not asking for more, just hoping we'll come back to who we are.

So today, I'm learning again. To notice the wind. To feel my breath. To stay still. Like he does.

If you'd like to follow more of our quiet moments, soft thoughts and slow adventures,
you're always welcome to join us on Instagram @selflavie. There's tea in the mug, paws on the porch, and always space for one more gentle soul. 

Soft hugs,
Selflavie & R🐾