I haven’t blogged in ages—five months, to be exact. After my last post in October, I got swamped with yoga teaching, dog care, miscellaneous appointments, household chores, my usual excuses. Then I got sidetracked by a three-week trip to my hometown. During that time, Stella suddenly, unexpectedly passed away. When I kissed her goodbye before leaving, I took for granted that I’d see her again.
Stella, whom my partner and I adopted in December 2017, was a giant of a dog. Last year, she turned 10, but she was outrageously fit and active, keen to run or, better yet, to swim, regardless of chilly temps or choppy waves. Almost 80 pounds, all muscle, intense in devotion and in fierceness, she tested me daily.
Initially, I told only my immediate family about her passing (unless directly asked about her). I hadn’t made sense of her death in my own mind. I was almost 3,000 miles away when she died. There was an unreality about what happened. Moreover, Stella was a complex dog; her interactions with her people were complex; my emotions were complex.
No Second Chances
At dawn, by phone, I found out that Stella didn’t make it through the night. She had survived emergency surgery and was stable enough to go home. Home! She was overjoyed. We assumed that she’d steadily recover. She was strong as a horse, how could she not?
But life is fragile. It can end at any moment. My grief wasn’t only about missing her warm, massive presence. I also felt remorse. I loved her and did my best with her. But I also made mistakes, and I immediately remembered and regretted them. I wanted more time, a second chance to be better with her.
With death, there are no second chances.
If I had known that her days were numbered, would I have been different? Probably. I would have appreciated her passion and “get-up-and-go,” paid more attention, treated her with less strictness, more kindness, curbed my impatience. And the list goes on.
Ichi Go, Ichi E
There’s a Japanese idiom, “ichi go, ichi e” (“one time, one meeting”), with a larger meaning of “once in a lifetime” or “this moment, never again.” It highlights the unrepeatable quality of each encounter. Even with the same person, in the same place, one day’s interaction can never recur.
The idiom is associated primarily with chado (the way of tea, commonly known as Japanese tea ceremony). In the mid 1800s, Ii Naosuke, a high-ranking official in the Tokugawa shogunate, elaborated on chado social dynamics:
… Even though the host and guests may see each other often socially, one day’s gathering can never be repeated exactly. Viewed this way, the meeting is indeed a once-in-a-lifetime occasion. The host, accordingly, must in true sincerity take the greatest care with every aspect of the gathering and devote himself entirely to ensuring that nothing is rough. The guests, for their part, must understand that the gathering cannot occur again and, appreciating how the host has flawlessly planned it, must also participate with true sincerity. This is what is meant by “one time, one meeting.”
This idea is also reflected in martial arts. During battle, each move is singular and decisive. Practitioners may repeat a technique over and over in the dojo. But, in life-or-death battle, they cannot stop midway and try again. If they err, they must move on. In real life, there are no do-overs.
After Stella’s death, I reflected on our seven years together. Seemingly countless walks, swims, meals, heeling drills, new cues, new tricks, clicker clicks, hugs, kisses, favorite games, scoldings, Chuckit! balls, poop bags, tooth brushings, nail trims, cleanups, good nights. Day-to-day life feels endless. Was I fully engaged every day? Did I do my best every day?
No. To treasure simple joys and glories, day in, day out—who can do that? (Actually, dogs can.)
I have no second chances with Stella, but can I be different, better, with living loved ones? Have I learned a lesson?
Idioms like “ichi go, ichi e” ring true conceptually. But to live by such truths is challenging. Even when my complacence is shaken, I wonder. Can I do it?
Images: Stella and I frequented various parks on the West Side of Vancouver. In June 2018, our destination was Trimble Park in West Point Grey. Off leash, we roamed the terrain, played fetch, did a few training drills. From the sidewalk, my yoga student Tracy Jean Wong recognized us. She’s a photographer and did an impromptu shoot. At the time, Stella was four and had joined our household only six months before. To me, these unrehearsed images capture Stella’s own spontaneity and natural enthusiasm.
What luck, to bump into Tracy, with her camera, with the time and interest to photograph Stella. Never again did that happen. Ichi go, ichi e.
For more on Stella, see “Constant Vigilance.”
Yoga Spy 
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