Just a girl, her dog, and the present moment.
Most mornings, I take my dog Stella—a sweet girl with perpetual puppy energy—out for a walk in the woods. Like everything else in my life, it starts as something to get done. I'm usually juggling a million things, my mind racing ahead to the next task, the next responsibility. Even this walk with her is part of the routine: exercise, check. But as we move through our little forest, something begins to shift.
At first, I'm on autopilot—striding forward, barely noticing the world around me. My mind is still spinning with everything I need to do, my breathing shallow and hurried. But Stella doesn't care about any of that. She lives entirely in the present moment. She pauses to sniff the air, her nose twitching with excitement as she explores the world with fresh curiosity every day. She pulls me to a stop, inviting me—without words—to slow down with her.
Reluctantly at first, I let myself pause. I watch her as she investigates a patch of wildflowers, her ears perked, her tail wagging slowly, alertly. She’s not in a hurry. For her, this isn’t just a task to check off—it’s an experience, a chance to savor the world in its simplest, purest form. And as I watch her, I realize I’ve been missing it. The beauty of these woods, the way the light filters through the trees, the earthy scent of the leaves crunching beneath my feet.
I take a deep breath, for what feels like the first time all day. My shoulders, tight from the endless to-do list that constantly weighs on me, start to relax. Stella looks back at me, her eyes bright, her tongue hanging out in that goofy, joyful way she has, as if to say, “Isn’t this wonderful?”
And it is.
I’m reminded of something I so often forget—that life isn’t always about getting to the next thing. It’s about this moment, this breath, this quiet space in the woods with my trusted companion by my side. She teaches me that it’s okay to let go of the rush, to just be present and enjoy what’s right in front of me.
We walk together, not in a hurry anymore, but in sync with the rhythm of the forest. She shows me the beauty in slowing down, in noticing the little things. The world is still there, with all its demands and chaos, but for this moment, it doesn’t matter. What matters is that we’re here, breathing deeply, moving together at our own pace, finding peace in the stillness of nature.
By the time we finish our walk, I feel lighter, less burdened by the never-ending list of things to do. I look down at Stella, and as her expressive eyes catch mine, I realize that she’s given me a gift. She’s reminded me how to be present, how to let go of the need to always be doing, and instead just enjoy being.
And for that, I’m grateful.
