CHAPTER FOUR

What’s the problem?

Simple: 

I was afraid to become the person I wanted to be.  

It can be scary when we begin to be. Something else. Someone else. Someone new. Something more. Or less. A perilous journey passing from one state to the next. Becoming is no small feat. Our old-is-gone given way to the new; an embrace of what-is-now. 

We are always becoming. Changing. Morphing. Evolving. Regressing. Many of our becomings are obvious, distinct, and dramatic. Some are even marked with ceremony, celebration, or tradition. We have weddings, and baby showers, and first-time homeownership parties. We’re given certificates when we cross the stage at graduation. Take vacations when we’ve retired. Have cake and candles every time we take another pass around the sun. Some of our becomings are aspirational. Goals we’ve set for ourselves. Milestones for a job well done. External guideposts for life’s decisions and movements. The stuff of our dreams.

“Congratulations Mr. Shelley - you’ve become a best selling author/illustrator!”

But the reality is that most of our becomings are subtle. In the way we treat those around us. How we chose to speak - the tone we use - and if we decide to listen. Small becomings unfolding day after day. Unseen and rarely celebrated. Shifts that are hardly perceptible. Slight changes in perspective that seem to make little difference or alterations in behaviour that go unnoticed. There are no feasts for becoming a kinder person. Or parties for being a more loving father. No grand ceremonies for choosing celery over chocolate. Yet our lives are made up of micro decisions that inch us forward. Tiny steps in our ever-becoming-ness. Everyday choices that make us who we are.

Circle back to 2012. 

Spring was peaking through the miserable grey but there was no sunshine in our house. Faith and I had spent most of the winter fighting about getting a dog. Months and months of battling it out. Entrenched warfare. Stuck in the muck of our no-mans-land. Unmoved. Unrelenting. A most hopeless affair. 

Faith wasn’t the problem. I was.

Faith wasn’t unreasonable. Or irrational. She wasn’t mean or calloused or overly pushy. In fact, Faith was entirely clear-headed and intuitive. She knew we needed a dog. Literally. I was the giant boulder in the way. An obstructionist fool. Cowardice and stubborn. Deep down I knew my “reasons” for not getting a dog were bunk. All that jabber about money and space and jobs. Bleh. None of it held up. All that fighting. All the arguments and tension and tears. Such a waste of time and energy. 

In truth, I wasn’t resisting Faith; I was obstructing myself. 

Admitting to wanting a dog was an existential crisis. Actually getting a dog was an evolution in my human being-ness I wasn’t ready to embrace. I was terrified to grow out from my childhood mold. Buck family norms. And set my own path. My heart was too shut off. I was too afraid. Worst of all, I didn’t know any of this at the time. I was but an immature young man with a barely developed brain and heart full of fear. Only now, with years of perspective, can I understand myself clearly. Only now does it all make sense.

I wasn’t afraid of getting a dog. 

I was afraid to become; I was afraid to love. 

In the end I didn’t need much. All it took was a few muttered words to inch me forward. “Okay,” I said. “Sure.” And that was it. The fighting stopped. Our war was over.

And Faith found our puppy the very next day.