The consequences of taking a leap of faith are by definition unknown.
I have no statistics, but I wonder if following the famed advice from naturalist John Burroughs––
“Leap and the net will appear”
––Has resulted in more broken bones than safe landings.
I could easily have predicted, however, the results of one such leap of faith a friend of mine took this week.
Namely a group of dog people trying to “rebuild ties with the community” over our unsanctioned use of the fallow baseball field seems to have provoked a (mostly) sleeping bear.
I’ve long-documented the ongoing saga of the oversized baseball field andpark that we dog people have embraced.
As I’ve said before, with escalating levels of tension and irony, it is essentially a Coen Brother’s film in the making.
After a relatively quiet fall, it seemed that the Concerned Citizen who took it upon himself to lock everyone out by applying kryptonite bicycle locks to all the gates, was defeated.
Persons unknown simply removed sections of the fence and relatively unimpeded, a wide variety of dog-owners and unofficial athletes have been enjoying the space.
The field’s official custodian even trimmed the edges of the removed fencing so that no human or canine would be scratched as we entered.
A quirky peace has been maintained…that is, until––with the very noblest intentions––my friend decided to approach the most recent city council meeting, proposing some simple, wise, and utterly reasonable measures.
She took a leap of faith, in other words, trusting that actions that were truly in everyone’s best interests would be received as such.
Alas, I think you can easily guess at where this narrative is going.
In contrast, allow me to set up another kind of Leap of Faith (Meditation again HERE), that I personally took this week.
Originally, I didn’t see it as such.
In fact, I was convinced I was simply completing some decluttering that’s been haunting me for what feels like decades.
Namely, I decided that this was the week I was finally going to recycle several stacks of magazines––mostly old issues of The New Yorker and Wired––that I genuinely want to read but never do.
I’ve realized that I’ve inherited something from my mother who’s imagination has long been held hostage by Antique Road Show.
Every worn item in her cellar is potentially an invaluable treasure, every seemingly worthless stray cigar box or mason jar from the 70s might in reality be a collector’s item worth hundreds of thousands of dollars.
Although I’m ruthless regarding most physical objects, I feel that way about sources of information.
Any issue of The New Yorker might just have that one article that’s going to inspire and transform my creative work; or, as we launch our wellness app soon, any faded copy of Wired might provide some invaluable connection or tech pivot that’s going to be worth billions.
(Sigh)
My friend proposed to the board that the dog people would alleviate any concerns about our park usage by not only cleaning up any messes but also actually improving the things.
We’d reseed and maintain the field, bringing it to a superior level of landscaping than its generally neglected state via the city.
We’d take true ownership, making it a better place for everyone, coexisting during the warmer months in ways that allowed everyone the right to enjoy it freely.
What this utopian vision did, however, was enrage the unofficial Anti-Dog party.
It put what’s basically an utterly tame violation of a silly “no dogs allowed on an abandoned field in the middle of winter” rule, back on their petty radar.
And thus, for the first time in over a year, Park Rangers have been showing up daily, giving dog owners tickets with hefty fines.
Unlike my mother’s “treasures,” obviously all the information contained in these periodicals is readily available online.
There’s little advantage to casually leafing through a magazine when I can simply surf its website.
Even so, dropping several unread stacks into the recycling bin, I found myself stung by a small pang of letting go.
After months of hesitation, there was also a huge relief to this psychic surgery.
It was perhaps only a minor leap of faith, but nonetheless I fully embraced the possibility that any golden nugget of necessary information would still find its way on to my path.
It’s worth noting that the field is directly across from a Police Station, one which is blithely unconcerned about canine trespassers.
Instead, it’s only Park Rangers who appear, ticket books in hand.
Thus far, Vlad and I have avoided them simply because we’ve departed by 8:30 am and they tend to keep rather leisurely mid-morning hours.
Even so, I’m subjected to dozens of warning texts in our various dog chats every day for those on high alert.
Here’s the key thing that elevates the situation again to Coen Brother’s comedy-level:
The Rangers can only ask for your name.
They can’t demand or check ID (much less arrest or detain you).
Thus everyone in the dog community has been advised to have at least one alias at the ready.
As a writer, I have dozens and dozens within my immediate imaginative reach.
Thus, I was astonished when another friend said he couldn’t think of a fake name on the spot.
To avoid future moments of panic, I shared with him an online fake name generator.
From now on, should the situation arise again, he’s simply going to be Nathanial J. Snurpus.
Although I had anticipated the initial backlash, I’d like to think that my friend’s leap of faith regarding the city council board will ultimately be rewarded.
Come spring, the park will be much cleaner and, quite literally, for once, the grass will indeed be greener on the other side of the fence.
Even the more obstinate rangers will no doubt have moved on and no longer be ticketing puppies like Vlad’s friends Cleo & Tug and their owners.
And while I thoroughly admit that my penchant for delighting in synchronicity knows no bounds, I have to also report that within a few hours of letting go of those stacks of periodicals,I had my own digital version of an antique roadshow moment.
A friend had set up a Zoom meeting about my ambitious art project with a new contact.
Not only did this person respond with massive enthusiasm, they volunteered to bring it a person who could bring it easily and instantly to the next level.
This is someone very much in the public eye but who had not (and would never) have occurred to me in a million years.
Fingers crossed before I can reveal more, but the reassurance was immediate.
Sometimes with a leap of faith, before the net officially appears, you might meet with a rocky landing.
You might even need to have a good alias or two at the ready.
Even so, when the motives are right, and you’re willing to let go of the path or objects you’re clinging to, miraculous things can happen.
Just ask Nathanial J. Snurpus.
Namaste for Now,
