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Compromise – A Lesser-Known Path to Beauty

written by Beth February 7, 2013

feeding

I started noticing something recently: that when I compromise — when I relax the way I think something should be and truly open myself to the wisdom of the moment — something beautiful happens. Pretty much every time.

Case in point:

We adopted a street dog last fall. Her name is Mora and she is awesome. Recently, while out for a walk, another skin and bones homeless decided to try his luck on the reputably gullible neighborhood gringas, and man did he ever work it.

Not only was he young and handsome, but he trailed a gnarly dread of ropes (indicating his tethered past), he wore the grin of a lighthearted lad (indicating his utter doggedness) and he wove between our feet like a souvenir salesman (indicating his mentors). Estella was the first to notice his coughing.

“He’s choking, Mom!” She screamed, her face stricken with horror. Her sisters were on him like nightshift triage nurses.

“Here we go again,” I thought, plastering up my guard and busting out my well-practiced “not a chance” face.

“Just feel it, Mom, the rope is too tight! He seriously can’t breathe!” Estella was nearly in tears.

It was true — he was choking, his breath loud and labored.

I found a shop owner with scissors, freed the dog from its noose and tried not to make eye contact.

It was no use. I’m wired like a mother and that dog needed a meal.

When we brought him home, I was firm. “A bowl of food, a bowl of water and he’s out.” (There are countless street dogs here and I had no interest in running a canine collective). The girls readily agreed, though their faces sung of silent hopes.

Now, I’m really not the long-winded dog story type, but just hang with me, there’s a point in here. Besides, have you ever seen two non-human mammals fall in love? OMG.

Mora was a mess at first sight. Not the least bit subtle in their teenage lust (and food suddenly the last thing from the the starving lad’s mind), they romped and rolled and licked and frolicked for hours upon end, pausing only for the occasional rest in a lovers embrace.

A sucker for romance, I had waited too long. The negotiations began…

“But he is starving!”
“But we don’t need two dogs.”
“But our yard is huge!”
“But they’ll totally destroy it.”
“But they’re in love!”
“But they are DOGS.”
“But he needs a home!”
“But it can’t be HERE.”

In the interest of brevity, I’ll not divulge all the doggone details of the following month, just the fact that “Samson” belonged to the neighbors (who promptly tied him to a trailer on a one-foot rope when we let him go), that we had to see him this way every day in passing, that his owners revealed that they didn’t actually want him, that after two days or so of gnawing he would break free again, then come wait outside our gate for a glimpse of his sweetheart, and that my kids now thought me a heartless, no-good dog hater (even Hunter had been sold by Samson the Salesman).

So, kindhearted enough, I compromised — a little.

He could be our street dog. We would feed him outside the gate once a day (a common occurrence among compassionate, pet-maxed expats) and let him in to play on occasion.

I’m not sure who I thought I was kidding. Their dates turned into sleepovers, our gate was a double-sided torture device and smitten as Mora was, the ticks, fleas and musk of Samson’s dumpster diving day job were not exactly part of my love language.

Then one day, I felt it — the resistance in me. It was stubborn, it was rigid, it was ego. What was I resisting again? Did I actually mind having two dogs? Was this about dogs, or was this about……control?

I let it go, I let Samson in (for real), and I gotta say, he’s pretty rad. But the beauty unfolded over the next weeks as…

Estella fell in love.

love

Short on friends here, she now spends hour after hour after hilarious, giggling hour with her dogs. She feeds them as a voluntary chore, she checks them for ticks and fleas, she dances with them, teaches them manners and reprimands their roughhousing.

My feisty, headstrong tough-as-nails youngest has the softest, most compassionate place in her for these dogs, and will always remember having saved her Samson.

Compromise, as I know it. the love is worth the rugs and my kitchenware.

Compromise, on so many levels. I’m guessing he reeked of dead animal, judging from the plastic bag mits.

Something broke loose in me that day when I saw my unwillingness to compromise as the work of my unexplored thoughts. Once I noticed the beauty that came by letting go, I began to wonder, “what would happen if I allowed for more compromise in my everyday interactions?”

I soon found out.

My kids feel validated and honored.
My husband feels respected and important.
My load feels somehow lighter,
And my life more spontaneous and fun.

I started thinking back to all the ways I’d compromised in my life already and how those experiences, too, had served me and my loved ones well. Not compromising my values, per say, but the “truths” I had created in order to support my values:

Compromise freed me of dogmatic rigidity and allowed me to see the beauty in many different ways of raising children. Compromise allowed me to move abroad and live a longterm dream. Compromise helped me ditch perfectionism and enjoy my life again. Compromise allowed my eldest daughter to heal by moving away for a time.

In this light, compromise is clearly no sign of weakness, but of trust. Trust that when we take a little of ourselves out of the equation; when we acknowledge the limits of our singular perspectives, life steps up and fills the rest of the moment better than we could.

I’m not saying that there aren’t things we ought to hold onto for their legitimacy, their necessity or our sanity, nor that we should compromise the fundamental truths of our hearts, but that the very act of holding tight may not necessarily be born of “correctness”, but unevaluated fears, or something akin. Fear that it’s all going to fall apart. Fear that there won’t be enough, fear that another perspective might dissolve our pretense of certainty.

What I am saying is that each moment offers beauty, and that by softening ourselves and being open to it, we might actually notice.

Welcome home, Samson, you lucky dog.

lucky dog

Did I say shorter posts? I’ll have you know I’m a fan of the slow wean.

Compromise – A Lesser-Known Path to Beauty was last modified: February 7th, 2013 by Beth
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13 comments

Maria VanderVliet February 7, 2013 at 2:02 am

this has nothing to do with your content, but I live in Pennsylvania and I have a not quite 2 year old dog that we rescued from a shelter that could be samson’s twin… If i had a picture handy i would try to attach it, if i didn’t know better i would think you had a picture of my dog on your blog… crazy!

Reply
Adah February 7, 2013 at 2:26 am

Oh dogs and compromise. If there is one thing in my relationship with my hubs that could break us, it is dogs. We had them for years, but have had a couple years off since I got my way a couple summers ago. I wrote myself a note about all the reasons that I hated having dogs because I knew I would forget, and I wanted to remember my argument when the topic came up again. I don’t look at the note and I should probably burn it. It is mean and hateful, especially since my husband cannot fathom life without dogs for much longer. I will compromise and we will have dogs again some day, but my mental arms are still crossed in anticipation of that crossroads because I haven’t quite arrived at that place where I can see the beauty that might/will come from taking in a dog again.

Reply
Beth February 7, 2013 at 2:41 am

I am only just now in a space where I am able to enjoy them again. When we had dogs AND babies, they were really more than I cared to handle. I can understand the sentiment!

Reply
Adah February 7, 2013 at 3:03 am

Very, very reassuring.

Reply
Cazador February 7, 2013 at 2:46 am

Notice the plastics bags on stella’s hands while petting Samson.

Reply
Melanie February 7, 2013 at 2:48 pm

Great post. I love me a good compromise, especially when the result is giving a sweet animal a loving home. I’m pretty certain I would be that crazy dog lady if I lived down there, they know I’m a sucker for sure. Plus dogs and little ones, doesn’t get much sweeter.

Reply
Heide February 7, 2013 at 2:49 pm

Loved this~Trust, compromise, letting go of control-all subjects that we humans, in my opinion, can never gain enough insight on. Thank you for shedding your beautiful light on the subjects.
One of the things I love most about you Beth is you live and examined life. More importantly, you take action-It is not a private self examination, but one that your are willing to share with the world (us blogger followers) that inspires action in us. It gives way to opening the locks we might have on some doors that haven’t been opened for a while.
Thank you for your gift.
Much love,
Heide

Reply
Rita February 7, 2013 at 7:53 pm

Shorter posts are over-rated. 🙂 Really appreciate this one.

Reply
Katy February 8, 2013 at 3:59 am

Right ON, mama. This one really hits the sweet spot. Tears. Heart bursting. LOVE! Sweet girl with her best friends. Oh, it’s all just too good.

Reply
Betsy February 8, 2013 at 8:15 am

What a sweet post! Do not feel the need to shorten your posts. I enjoy every word:)

Reply
Danielle February 8, 2013 at 3:56 pm

I loved this post. Compromise feels so hard for me. I am so stubborn to the point that I sometimes have an out-of-body experience when I’m in an argument or discussion, where I can see how ridiculous it is that I’m holding on to my “side” so stubbornly, but it is just so hard to let go. But I’m learning, slowly, that when I do let go, good things happen.

Plus, I’m such a sucker for a good dog.

Reply
Stephanie February 12, 2013 at 3:54 pm

Thank you for these words. I have been letting more compromise seep into my marriage and find that it is indeed a lightening experience. I am very stubborn and have a hard time letting go (of whatever control I feel is necessary). You are soooo right about TRUST and compromise and reading your words has helped see this particular struggle for me in a way I have not.
Again,
Thank You

Reply
Taos October 26, 2013 at 12:54 pm

That dog is so weird.

Reply

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Hi! I’m Beth Berry, writer, life coach, adventurer, mother of four daughters, and hopelessly hopeful human. This is a space where I show up wholeheartedly (however imperfectly), speak the truths of my heart, and contemplate life’s messy, sacred mysteries. Make yourself at home! All are welcome here.

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