Minnie & Fudge.

Dear Minnie,

Minnie? Who’s Minnie?

Minnie was our beloved family dog, this big scruffaluffagous malamute that was a big part of my childhood when we first moved to Alaska. When she passed about seven years ago, I was heartbroken, naturally. The idea of never being able to talk to her again or cry my heart out in her fluffy fur frightened me, and so I continued talking to her: in my journal.

Dear Minnie.

Well, she has company now.

Because the other day, we had to say another unfortunate goodbye; but this time, to our dearest cat Fudge.

See, the first time I met Fudge, she was drinking out of the toilet.

(way to make an unforgettable entrance, am I right?)

This was after my sister and I shyly asked our host if we could bring her inside, as she had been trying to sip out of a frozen water dish.

Instantly connecting with this precious kitty, we didn’t know that a couple of months later she would be joining our family, and would continue to be a part of it for another sixteen years.

Boy that cat was purrfect.

Fudge was our first family cat and she was something special. Regal, well-groomed, dignified, and ever so curvaceous (not fat), this kitty commanded attention whenever she walked through the room.

When Minnie passed, Fudge was there to console me, as she had lost a best friend too. Whenever my heart got broken, Fudge was there, purring on my lap. Getting ready for bed, you can bet that Fudge was there, kneading on my chest and drooling ever so slightly. And whenever I went outside to mow the lawn, there she was, meowing at the door, begging to join me in the sunshine.

I mean for sixteen years, this cat was by my side. Literally, she slept with me nearly every night.

And this week, we had to say our goodbyes.

I gotta tell you- it does not get easier.

I first noticed something amiss about a week ago. She had been moving slower for quite some time, gracefully aging like the queen she was, but over the weekend, something just changed.

One day she was fine and then the next… she wasn’t.

Her decline into old age was visible, and it was breaking my goddamn heart seeing her in so much pain.

Her time was coming, and it was not something I wanted to accept, at first.

Still timid and tender form the tumultuous emotional growth of the last few months, knowing that it was her time was the last thing I wanted to deal with.

I felt like I wasn’t ready. I hadn’t prepared, and I certainly wasn’t in the right emotional state to say goodbye to someone that I loved with all my heart.

Please, not now. Not ever. Aren’t cats supposed to have nine lives?

But I also knew that deep down, it was time.

So on an ordinary afternoon, my entire family went with her to the vet and stayed by her side as she delicately went to sleep.

Minnie, it was devastating. I don’t know where the endless supply of tears came from, but they never stopped. I was crushed. A Fudge sized hole was left in my heart and I wept and grieved for days.

I’m still grieving.

I miss seeing her face in my bedroom window. I mourn the emptiness of where her food and water bowls used to be. I feel sorrow for the silence of my family’s home where her meows used to ring loud.

I miss her.

This wretched goodbye reminds me of a quote I came across recently, a Roman proverb about fate.

“Fate leads the willing; the unwilling it drags.”

As much as I selfishly wanted her to live out the rest of her nine lives, I also knew that her time with us was the end of one chapter and the start of another.

This time, with Minnie.

So Minnie, you’ve got your best friend back. And I can’t wait to see you both in my journal.

Dear Minnie. Dear Fudge.

Hakuna matata.

“Today we’ll be talking about the pesky habit of worry.”

Perched at the end of my bed in nothing but me bare skivvies, I paused mid brush at the morning’s introduction into meditation.

Then I looked around, peered behind the curtains, and checked underneath my bed because as of late, my guided meditations have opened with expressions that so closely resonate with where I am in my life that it feels like…

They’re watching. Listening. It’s like they know.

I mean one time it was self-love on the day I needed it most, the next forgiveness, and then this morning: hakuna matata.

A Swahili phrase roughly translating to “there are no worries here”, I first heard this phrase from the Disney movie, “The Lion King.”

I mean who hasn’t?

And worry? Yeah, that’s something I can relate to right now.

It all began last week. I was going about my day when I received some unexpected news.

And it was not good news.

It was the kind of news that instantly brought up bittersweet memories and feelings of shame from that period in my life in which I’m trying so hard to forgive myself for, and I’ll be honest, I didn’t react very well.

Ducking outside to the deck, I hunched over, slipped out a rare expletive or two, and tried my hardest to remember all of my strategies for calming down. Because like clockwork, I could feel myself becoming consumed with panic. I sensed the flood of all these tender feelings come rushing in to pick at the wound that hadn’t quite healed just yet and for a hot second, I contemplated just letting it all take over.

It would’ve been so much easier to just let it all drown me.

But I’m not in the habit of doing easy anymore.

I crave goddamn difficult. And this? This felt like the universe was putting me to the test, a perfect opportunity to practice this emotional self-control.

And so, fighting against the cascade of overwhelming worry, I focused instead on breathing, working hard to just calm down.

Breath Elan. Just breathe.

As I inhaled through the nose and exhaled through the mouth (thank you yoga), I slowly saved myself from diving headfirst into what could’ve been another anxiety attack and just breathed.

And it worked. Flexing my calm muscles, I managed to get myself back into a state where I could then begin to think with clarity.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t over.

Though I was now calm, and though I had problem solved and taken care of what I could for the time being, I had a long wait ahead of me and regrettably, that’s when the worry appeared.

And me? I’m not good at dealing with worry. That’s part of where my anxiety stems from: this inclincation to dwell in the uncertainty.

So it’s only fitting that I would have a meditation focused on the very theme of having “no worries for the rest of your days.”

Because man wouldn’t it be nice not to have to worry.

See worrying is addictive.

Especially when you’re slightly insecure, susceptible to anxious thoughts, constantly over-thinking, and perpetually prone to anticipating the worst possible outcome.

Luckily, I’m becoming extremely self-aware of this wicked tendency and have become better at recognizing it when it comes creepin’ in.

Because all I’ve learned from incessant worrying is that it is a complete waste of energy and doesn’t accomplish anything. It amplifies anxiety and does not serve me. Can it change the outcome? No. Does it help pass the time? Never.

Like the meditation said: “Change starts with awareness. By catching ourselves, we distance us from our worried thoughts. We can observe with awareness and question whether our worrying is helpful.”

And most times? It’s not.

So whenever I sense that worry might be wandering in, I’ll just remember hakuna matata.

What a wonderful phrase.