I was approaching an all too familiar bottleneck, driving north along Western Avenue where two lanes merge into one for road repairs.

I had already played through the options in my mind. Can I avoid the construction zone by turning west earlier, or would the extra mileage in this work-around take me out of my way so far that the move would be no better than creeping along in traffic for a few blocks? 

My windows were sealed shut. The volume on my radio was dialed up. The air conditioner was on, the fan engaged, and the dashboard vents directed the cool air towards my neck. But no doubt about it, I wasn’t happy.

Then, I looked at the nearby cars, preparing for the less than delicate dance of metal. Some drivers were waving other drivers to insert their cars ahead of them. Others chose to inch up, practically kissing the car in front of them, just to prevent such an accommodation.

I glanced at a nearby car.

A dog sat in the back seat of a late model SUV staring out an open window. The pup seemed to be medium-sized, some sort of combination of breeds. He was breathing a little quickly but was otherwise chill.

With the recent news about record-setting temperatures, heat-related deaths in locations where they wouldn’t have been imagineable a few years ago, I considered myself lucky that I was just experiencing the typical discomforts of summer. Hight humidity and road construction.

Still, I was caught up ruminating on the inconvenience of the slowdown to MY LIFE…

… Until I saw this dog peering out a car window.

I don’t know why. I see dogs doing every conceivable activity with their human companions all the time, but the sight surprised me. I had to smile.

In general, I enjoy being surprised.

Being surprised brings me into a state of humility. It is liberating to be okay with not knowing something, with not being able to control things.

I experienced surprise when I saw the dog’s face peering out of the car window initially because I didn’t expect to see anything except the faces of exasperated drivers stuck in traffic.

But I experienced another, deeper, level of surprise.

I felt more “human,” more appreciative of my humanity by taking in the dog’s vibe than I have by sitting around a campfire or chanting with people who I might think of as my tribe.

I know there’s a connection between the words themselves, human, humor and humble. They all come from the Latin word, humus, which means humanity.

While doing online research on these words, I came across this perspective from Pastor Ted Loder (from the Danish Lutheran Church in Southern California).

“Laughter is a holy thing. It is as sacred as music and silence and solemnity, maybe more sacred. Laughter is like a prayer, like a bridge over which creatures tiptoe to meet each other. Laughter is like mercy. It heals. When you can laugh, at yourself, you are free.”

Beyond my laughter at the present tense joy in the unexpected, in observing the dog’s state, I took special delight in contemplating my very human life.

The dog was content looking at the world — as it is. He was open to what he was experiencing. He didn’t stress about traffic or whatever happened around him. He just took it all in.

He poked his head out of the window to feel what was available to feel.

Of course, people’s lives are more complex. We make agreements with each other all the time. We stress about whether our intentions and desires are clearly understood and whether we can keep our agreements.

Integrity is an important aspect of how I want to live, but I can easily forget the importance of staying OPEN.

While I may retreat into the predictability and comfort of air conditioning and streaming a TV show, my dog would always choose to go for a walk or sit on my deck and feel actual breezes tickle her fur. She would find delight in the different scents that waft by or the sounds of passing trains.

Opening the window is no small thing.

Re-printed with permission.

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