Not Knowing, and Not Needing To

Today I was walking with Kaleigh and the family dog, through a trail in the woods. It used to be a railroad track, long ago, but it’s been converted to a lovely walking trail.

So, we’re walking through the forest, almost back at home already. And the dog, Moxie, she disappears for a minute. And comes back with some big, ugly looking bone. There’s meat clinging to it, and it’s disgusting. We’re like two minutes away from home too, and Moxie doesn’t seem to want to let it go. She’s got this big, hulking animal bone with rotting meat stuck to it.

And we’re throwing sticks for her, hoping she’ll abandon the bone and chase them. Of course, she doesn’t. We tell her to drop it, and of course, she doesn’t. We’re worried she’s going to try to bring it back to the house, and we don’t want to try to pry it out of her mouth or anything.

So, it’s not a crisis by any means, but there’s this looming feeling of dread for those last few minutes as she trumps towards the house with a hefty bit of carcass in her mouth. And then, just at the last minute, before we break free of the forest into the quiet cul-de-sac where we live, she trots off the path and begins burying it. It takes her a good couple minutes to dig and bury it, but she comes trotting back with a big stupid dog grin on her face.

I don’t think Moxie planned that burial all along, because I’m positive that she’s one of the dumbest dogs ever. I think it just occurred to her at the last minute, that she should save it – that she had better food at home, but maybe, some day, this bone would be useful out in these woods.

It reminded me of a certain feeling. When I’m writing a poem, or designing a game, or working on any of a thousand ill-thought-out projects, there’s this feeling of joyful vigor. If asked to explain why I was pouring so much energy into such a project, I’d be hard pressed to come up with a good explanation; most of my projects are flights of fancy, or things that only reveal their importance much later.

Later, I’ll likely abandon the project, but that doesn’t feel like a bad thing. It feels like I’m burying another bone at the edge of the forest, that it’s not gone, that it’s set aside for when I want it again. And if that’s never, that’s fine. Moxie doesn’t really think she’s going to need that bone some day. I don’t really think I’m going to need that half-finished project some day. It’s just… nice. It’s nice to feel invigorated by work, and not feel the need to justify that vigor. It’s nice to have the luxury to bury your work, without ceremony, and only ever return if you feel energized to do so. It’s nice to feel accountable only to your own spirit.

And those bones that litter the edge of your forest, they’re not waste. Because it doesn’t take completeness to feel accomplishment. For Moxie, the very act of carrying that bone around was an accomplishment. Burying it was an accomplishment. Moving on was an easy and joyful task.

It’s nice to not know. It’s nice to feel okay about not knowing. The bones will still be where you buried them, should you ever need them.