I have mixed feelings about dogs. As a kid, my family had our golden retriever, Julius, and our resilient street fighter, Freckles.

In high school we had Charlotte, who became my younger brother’s formidable nemesis from the first moment her paws touched our driveway, as she sprinted full speed to pile drive him into the car. Oh boy, this is gonna be fun.

She meant well, her spirit softening with age.

However, once in my twenties, with my own apartment somewhere between LA and Tokyo, small dogs yapping from the other side of the living room wall became the bane of my existence.

It’s not like I want to punt every small dog I see into a river, Anchorman style. Some are pretty cute, or just plain weird, which is fun, too.

I understand we want a furry little friend to strut around town, and who else will give us unconditional love whether storming through the door at 3am after a night out, or when we feel we’ve made a mistake and just need some consoling?

Not our partner, or our mother, or our best friend. They’re human, too, and won’t always give us what we think we need. But dogs will. And if we think we just need some lovin’, a dog will hop on our lap at the snap of our fingers, and the face licks shall commence.

Dogs are a shit ton of work, a worthy prelude to children. I think that’s another reason people get dogs — they want to see if they can care for something other than themselves.

I want kids myself some day. And before that day comes, it’s always been my idea to have a dog. But I’ve told myself that it would be when I am settled and secure and can give it the care it deserves.

But life happens.

Ten months ago, I met a girl. She has a dog, an awesome one, at that. I’ve been spending quite a bit of time with this curious border collie, going on runs, hanging, and welcoming those morning kisses.

But she also has that wolf-like spirit, as the DNA of her ancient kin flows through her veins. She adds something primeval to my daily existence, and that’s pretty damn cool. What one can share with a dog is both similar and foreign from what we can share as human beings, a bond that’s formed not through language, but purely through emotion.

What are you thinking? I often wonder when she’s sniffing away at flowers, or gazing into space, or staring into my soul.

I imagine hundreds of thousands of years ago, this connection between human beings and animals was wonderfully lucid, as it was to the earth, the trees, the oceans and winds.

Because there was no separation. They spoke the same language.

Now, everything seems separate — man from woman, humankind from animals, earth from the galaxy — we’re even separate from ourselves. And that’s what makes the world so complicated.

We can love our dog to no ends, but we can’t find it in our hearts to love ourselves. Maybe, then, our pets have something to teach us after all.

My partner has trained her dog exceptionally well, and I’m beyond grateful for that. The other night I was just hanging outside, and she wanted to play catch. Can’t you see I’m busy doing nothing?

But then I started tossing the ball, and the insight came:

There’s nothing more than this.

As I tossed the ball back and forth, back and forth, my mind contemplated what more I want out of life.

What am I truly trying to achieve? Sure, there are things I want to accomplish; creative endeavors that make me happy to pursue. I want to support a family one day. There are more adventures in store.

But what will my life look like in two, five, twenty-five years? How similar, and how different, really?

I want to exercise in the morning and do work that matters to me, as the morning is my prime time. Writing, my podcast, making things, creating art — building. I don’t want to work just to work.

In the afternoon, I want to be outside, relaxing, experiencing life with people I love. I want to enjoy my time on earth, and when things feel overwhelming, a bond with an animal simplifies that aim.

I’m a young man. I’m not yet in a place where I can do exactly what I want, when I want, how I want. I have to work to make a living, strive for my dreams, push forth to get to the place where I can truly just take my foot off of the pedal.

And I imagine when I get to that place, I’ll just want to help others. When I’ve built a life, a family, a home, with wisdom gleaned from the journey, I’ll want to give back. Of course I can do that now in whatever ways I can — the little things — but when I have resources to help, it’ll be a priority.

Make this planet a little better, ’cause it can feel dark. It’s a crazy time we live in. But instead of trying to change the world, maybe all we can do is focus on the things we can control, how we share our heart, most of all.

There’s still so much love in this world. It’s not on the news, but rather in the laughter between friends, the kindness of a stranger, the toss we may have with our dog.

Perhaps a toss with a dog is why we’re alive.

To be silly. To let go of the striving. To open our hearts and simplify. The noise tells us there must be more — there must be something out there to help us feel okay inside. There isn’t.

There’s only going deeper within ourselves to understand why we’re not okay. The world’s not okay because we’re not okay. And we’re not okay because we’re human, and that’s okay.

It’s actually wonderful, in all of its fucked up duality, pleasure and pain, darkness and light, love and hate. We have a brief blip of time on this floating rock, and we can strive to enjoy whatever the hell happens, or we can lose ourselves. We can lose the point. It’s all love.

It’s meditative, tossing the ball. It’s absolutely stunning looking into the horizon. The orange sky, dark ridges, outlines of trees; the hills paler in the distance, darker as they near me.

I watch the dog chase after the ball — the precision of her movements. The absolute joy she emits when sprawling into the air and the way her tongue hangs from her mouth, jaw wide, as if the happiest beast in the world.

I love this dog. It’s really that simple.