Assumptions Unknowingly Made

A reflection on the small details of life.

Last week, my children spent several days with my parents, near the coast of North Carolina. During this reprieve, I had all sorts of things planned. I hoped to clean the house, thoroughly. I planned to schedule a massage and a therapy appointment—things I haven’t had time for lately. I wanted to organize our closets and pack away clothes the kids have outgrown. I hoped to prep some meals and plan some afternoon activities for the boys—a few novel things to get us through the last month of summer. I even planned to write a few Substack articles in advance, maybe work on some personal essays, and definitely finish a novel. Or two.

However, the week before my parents came to visit, my husband and I decided to adopt a large, black puppy, ten months old. She’s wire-haired, long and lean, exceptionally fast, and quite intelligent. An older gentleman with long white hair braided under a bandana remarked from the lobby of the veterinarian’s office that she looks like a Scottish deerhound. Or maybe it’s cousin, an Irish wolfhound. That should give you an idea of her size. We’ve named her Juniper—Juno, for short—after the bristly green shrubs that grow wild along the slope of our hill.

My husband and I debated adding a dog to our family, unsure if the timing was right, but ultimately, with the kids away for the week, we decided to go ahead and adopt her. Despite the lofty expectations I’d had for the week, we knew that the time without kids would provide space to train her and give us time to adjust before we rush back into the ebbs and flows of shift life. So this is how I—semi-begrudgingly, semi-willingly—gave up my precious few days alone, putting aside my own plans in order to watch a series of dog training videos (thank you, Will Atherton), practice obedience drills, and guard the family belongings from the jowls of one curious puppy.

If I’m honest, this was disappointing. The giddy excitement of a new pet quickly dissipated once I realized I couldn’t leave Juniper alone in our house at all. We didn’t have a crate yet, so I was completely homebound for the first two days. (Many thanks to my neighbor who, after hearing about my crate-training needs, graciously offered her dog’s old crate to us free of charge.) I pressed into the role of trainer, and by the second day, Juniper had learned sit, stay, come, down, turn, and place. We were still working on leave it, but she was proving to be an intelligent little gal. I tried to look at the time spent on training as swapping out short-term gain (my personal plans) for long-term reward (a pet that our family will, hopefully, cherish and remember with great fondness).

For the first two days, the only thing I could really do was read. Juniper was happy to lay at my feet after a walk or a romp in the backyard, but if I attempted to do anything more involved than unloading the dishwasher, she would slink away and steal plastic trucks from the playroom, shoes from the entryway, blankets and pillows from the living room. So in-between the training videos and drills, I sat on the couch reading—trying hard not to disturb her and trying harder to not feel guilty.

The book I read, and finished, was one I mentioned in last week’s newsletter, in the final section of good things—the novel Three Junes by Julia Glass. The novel is a triptych, a form often displayed visually as a series of three linked photographs or paintings. The story is told in three parts; each section stands alone but the threads are interwoven—small details in one feature prominently in another, which provides layers of depth to overall piece. The central portion, told from the perspective of a gay man living in New York during the AIDS crisis, broke my heart over and over again. This novel was recommended to me in my early twenties, as a creative writing student, but I am grateful I waited to read it. Parenthood and adulthood, the expansion of each, made the story much richer than it would have been as a younger reader. I know the main character, Fenno McLeod, will reside in my heart and mind for days to come.

I don’t want to spoil the novel for you (although it did come out in 2002), but something that kept bubbling up were assumptions made between characters. Between friends and lovers, parents and children, siblings and spouses. Things left unspoken gave way to assumptions. Instead of truly knowing the other person, things were often wrongly assumed. As a result, the characters suffered—loneliness, regret, betrayal, bitterness. Each character was very much living his or her own life, unaware of the ripples of those small details, assumed to be true. Unaware of how little they actually knew their father, brother, or friend. This made me wonder what, in my own life, I have assumed to be true that really isn’t. What pains that may have caused. What disappointments. I wonder if I will ever know, or if this is just life, a part of the human experience—the inability to know fully, oneself or another.

While the week didn’t go as planned, I am thankful for the opportunity to trade a week of productivity for a week of rest. I’m still giving myself the grace of acknowledging that what I was able to accomplish was worthwhile. And I am also grateful for the reminder that fiction can speak its own great truths. Stories don’t have to be factual to be meaningful.

With curiosity,
Jenica

---

Everyday Joy

Here she is, our lovely mutt.

---

Words of Jubilee

I’ve shared this quote by Mary-Jean Irion before, but I just love it…

Normal day, let me be aware of the treasure you are. Let me learn from you, love you, bless you before you depart. Let me not pass you by in quest of some rare and perfect tomorrow. Let me hold you while I may, for it may not always be so.

---

A Few Good Things

1. On my drive down to the coast, I listened to the first three episodes of The Bible Project’s newest podcast series about The City. It’s fantastic, and you can listen along here. I’d love to know what you think!

2. I can’t recommend Will Atherton enough—these videos really helped me out this week.

3. I enjoyed this post by Hope’s Notes about carrying oneself wherever you are. As someone who regularly struggles with thinking the grass is greener, it’s a good reminder to embrace who and where we are.

---

As always, thanks for your readership and support. If you would like to contribute to this project you can click the button below to add to my writing fund, you can choose to become a paid subscriber, or you can simply share this newsletter with others.