Relaxed, Yet Ready

One of the things I noticed about myself long before I noticed it in a lioness is how much time I spend preparing for things that haven't happened.

A conversation.

A decision.

A problem.

A future version of myself that may or may not ever arrive.

Sometimes I call it planning.

Sometimes I call it being responsible.

But if I'm honest, much of it is rehearsal.

While connecting with wild animals in South Africa, I found myself sitting with a lioness who seemed entirely uninterested in rehearsal.

She was resting in the grass, a male lion near. Her belly on the ground, eyes half closed.

Not asleep.

Not distracted.

Not vigilant.

Simply present.

Every now and then she would lift her head, look around, then slowly blink.

There was no sense that she was preparing for what might happen next.

No sense that she was running future scenarios.

No sense that she was carrying yesterday.

She was exactly where she was.

Relaxed.

Yet ready.

At one point the lion approached and began circling her. For a while she tolerated his presence. Then, when he crossed a boundary she clearly had no interest in negotiating, she rose to her feet, grooooowwwled, swatted in his direction, and made her position abundantly clear.

The moment passed.

The male yielded.

And then she did something that fascinated me.

She lay back down.

Immediately.

No residue.

No replay.

No continued vigilance.

No preparing for the next possible intrusion.

Just lioness.

Resting once again.

Watching her, I began to understand something I had been observing for years but had never quite named.

Wild animals seem remarkably coherent.

Their thoughts, bodies, instincts, actions, and environment are all participating in the same moment.

When action is required, they act.

When rest is available, they rest.

When a boundary is needed, they establish it.

And when the moment has passed, they return to what is happening now.

Humans, on the other hand, often ask our nervous systems to prepare for moments that are not yet here.

And our domestic animals frequently carry the consequences of that disconnection.

Which led me to a distinction that followed me home from Africa:

Wild animals teach us about coherence.

Domestic animals show us what happens when coherence breaks down.

The lioness did not teach me how to become passive.

She taught me how much energy I spend preparing for life rather than living it.

She reminded me that readiness does not require anticipation.

Sometimes it simply requires being fully available when the moment arrives.

Relaxed.

Yet ready.