What My Dog Taught Me About Minneapolis

Yesterday I was trying to celebrate my 54th trip around the sun, the country and the internet were tearing itself apart again, and all I wanted was my dog. These things all converged in my brain and what could be learned from each of them eventually came to the top.

Only in a world dominated by the deep political and algorithmic fueled tribes could a well-documented event be perceived in so many different and completely incongruent ways. Because while the eye sees things, it’s up to the brain to interpret them and our interpretations of those impressions have become a decided mess.

Two people in Minneapolis went out on a winter day to stand for what they believe in, one of them didn’t come home. There’s only one explanation for that and that is tragedy and an absence of grace. When you push humans to the brink and fuel them with an incessant bombardment of tribalism where everything our tribe believes in is right and everything the other tribe believes in is evil, the center cannot hold. The majority of fault lies not with the individuals, but what created the situation, and that’s how we react to these things. We’re failing the test.

You might dismiss this as a call for some middle ground and it must be understood that on some things there can’t be a middle ground. The story of Solomon “splitting the baby” from First Kings (or Melakhim Alef, depending on your book of choice) illustrates this point perfectly. It also illustrates what is missing from this tragedy—compassion. Solomon deduces that only the true mother would rather see the baby alive and with another woman than dead. She chose the lie that saved a life over the truth that proved her case. Our test is a slightly different one and that is only those who see this as a tragedy any way you slice it are demonstrating the requisite compassion required to see us through the tumultuous and turbulent times.

I wasn’t always a good dog owner, sometimes I was a downright poor one. But no matter how bad I was, my recently departed constant companion, Izzy, returned to me with unconditional love again and again. Usually it took only moments for it to happen. Some would see this as a dog being stupid, I see it as them demonstrating a humanity we often do not. It’s acknowledgement that we need one another, mistakes happen, but at the end it is love and this need for one another that is what it means to be human.

There are countless animals that are solitary, the dog is decidedly not one of them. A dog’s nature is to be part of a pack, it’s what they live for. Izzy became part of our pack and had a drive to do everything for it right until the very end. When her legs on the right side could no longer carry her she still wanted to be a part of the pack, do her duty, protect and care for us.

Since that Christmas Eve there’s not a room or place I haven’t cried for her. I never deserved the love she gave me—and she gave it anyway, every single day. My thoughts have dwelled not on holding her until she breathed her last breath but if I held her tight enough. Were my words of love and assurance she could rest received and understood? Did she know how much I loved her and would miss her?

As I move on now trying to keep her memory I find myself trying to be more like her and understand what the really important things are. Because at the end of the day, when all the noise is silenced, when all the vitriol has been aired, when all the attacks have fallen silent, we only have each other.

So instead when I see a tragedy happen I see it as a tragedy that, regardless of tribe, could have been and should have been avoided. But, collectively, we didn’t allow that to happen. We pushed two people who woke up that day to stand for what they believe in to be caught in the vise of algorithmically-induced outrage. Because, after all, it’s not compassion that gets clicks, it’s outrage that sells and drives “engagement.” Maybe we all need to disengage quite a bit. I have, since Izzy left. I haven’t been consumed because I haven’t been consuming.

Yesterday I just wanted to enjoy my birthday. It’s a pretty big one, my last trip around the sun before I reach the age my father was when he took his last trip. So while the country, the world, and the interwebs rage away outside of me I just miss Sadie, who was my soul, Izzy, who was my heart, and Dad who taught me what it meant to be human and a man. I can’t get any of them back, I can only move forward learning the lessons I have learned from them. That lesson includes you don’t know what someone else is going through, you certainly don’t know what someone else is thinking, treat that other person and point of view with a heaping dose of grace. Many times it’s more grace than you think you should be giving. Sometimes there is not enough grace that does the trick, just don’t let noise determine where that point is. If we all did that, maybe two people would have gone home in Minneapolis.