I’d like to think that life is about enjoying the little things. Nobody ever talks about the wildflowers, how they emerge in the strangest places like yellow drops of sun, with their only focus being the spread of their beauty. I wish I had time to say hello, good morning, I love you, to each and every dandelion I find resting in patches of grass or growing out of cracks in the pavement.

Sometimes, it feels like humans ruin everything. What’s the big rush anyway? If life is so precious and short, wouldn’t you like to spend it doing things that make you wiggle, not worry? Why would someone skip a morning walk and a chance to wave to the sun just to isolate themselves to a screen and brew drinks that scorch their bodies with glorified dirt?

Speaking of dirt, I love it. I used to avoid it. I’d avoid picking it up with my footprints and carrying it with my everywhere I go, leaving a trail and covering anything clean in my wake. I had to learn that when you give into the dirt, and stop focusing on someone else’s definition of how you should act, look, or feel, you start to realize that dirt is what connects you to the earth, and it sets you free.

She was my person. She was more than a warm bed to lie in and a gentle hand to feed me, she was my world. I loved her so deeply that I told myself I’d be okay attending to her needs and ignoring my own. I did everything she wanted, when she wanted, because her permission meant that she trusted me enough to let me live the life she thought would suit me best, even if it meant I couldn’t make my own choices. Even if it meant I couldn’t choose how I interact with the world around me. She will always be my mother, and I will always love her most.

But love isn’t always enough, is it? I want to dive into every pond I see and let the water wrap me in its warmth. I want to make friends with everything and everyone I come across. I want to expand, and to grow, but she’s taken up all of the space. Sometimes you have to choose your happiness over someone else’s, because at the end of the day, they’re not the one living your life, you are.

Leaving was the hardest part. How can you tell someone that you love them, but not enough to stay? The planning and preparation took time and effort, but I did it, despite of her. If I was supposed to stay, why was I so relived when I left?

She cried enough tears to fill an ocean when I left, and I will never forget the sorrow in her eyes as she watched me make my escape. My kind and controlling mother, who was everything all at once, wasn’t able to keep me still in the end, and as I watched her heart break I learned how to nurture my own.

My face is plastered on every other poster, along with my name and the details from my former life. Maybe some day I’ll return, and she will see how much I’ve changed.

I love this world. To me, there’s no such thing as happy little things now, only big things everywhere I turn. I spend my days by the river, hunting for food and playing with butterflies whenever I please. Every time I lay down to clean my paws, I think of her and her role in getting me here, and it makes my tail wag.

At the end of the day, you can’t put a leash on a dog who craves the universe.