When we moved back to Melbourne, I knew I would miss the people we had built a life with on the Gold Coast.
What I hadn’t fully considered was how much Louie would miss them too. For three years, he had built his own little community alongside mine.
People who knew him by name, looked for him when they arrived, who knew exactly how soft his ears were, how he greeted them, or how long it would take before he eventually wandered over for a pat.
He had become part of the fabric of our community, and then, suddenly, we moved; and for a little while, Louie was the new dog again.
When Lola first came home, Louie was unsettled.
And while some of that was adjusting to a very enthusiastic puppy who had absolutely no understanding of personal space, I think some of it was the bigger change around him too. The familiar scents, sounds and routines of our Gold Coast life were gone. So were the regular faces, the people who had become part of his world.
I remember thinking about how much we talk about moving house being difficult for humans, but rarely consider what it means for our animals. They don’t understand the logistics, don’t know why their favourite people aren’t walking through the door anymore; they just know that things have changed.
Thankfully, Melbourne is slowly starting to feel like home.
We’re getting out more, I’m hosting more breathwork sessions, and Lola is a little older, and our world is expanding again.
He’s found his favourite café with the team at Lux Foundry; he’s discovered the pub and the welcoming faces of Holmes Hall. And, of course, he is back doing what he loves most, joining me for breathwork and meeting people.
He’s settling in.
And what I’ve loved most is watching him begin to build something new.
Last month, Louie stood on stage with me at Generation Women in front of around 200 people.
Two hundred strangers, but within minutes, they were completely in love with him. It made me smile because I’ve seen this happen so many times before. People often ask me what makes Louie so special. And as I wrote in the story I shared, I don’t think it’s because he’s extraordinary. I think it’s because he reminds us of something we’ve forgotten.
He doesn’t know our job titles, our achievements or our failures. He doesn’t know the stories we tell ourselves about not being enough. He simply sees us.
And somehow, that is enough to make people feel different.
Louie will turn six in October; apparently, that makes him somewhere around his early-to-mid forties in human years. Which, honestly, feels about right; he’s entering his middle-aged era, confident in who he is. He knows what he likes, knows exactly whose spot on the bed belongs to him, and he knows what he has to offer.
There’s something really beautiful about watching a dog move from the uncertainty of being young into the confidence of knowing who he is. He’s no longer discovering his place in the world; he’s established in it, and now he gets to share what he’s learned.
Then there’s Lola, at five months old; she’s roughly equivalent to a human child in primary school, and the difference between them is hilarious!
Lola is still figuring out who she is; she’s testing boundaries, discovering the world and learning that not everything belongs in her mouth. She approaches everything with the confidence of someone who has never experienced a consequence in her life.
Louie, on the other hand, has seen some sh*t!
He knows when to walk away, when someone needs a gentle hello and when they need space.
He knows when it’s time to work and when it’s time to lie under a table at the pub and wait for someone to accidentally drop a chip.
Watching them together has made me think about how different life feels when we’re still becoming versus when we’ve started to understand who we are.
Perhaps that’s what I love most about watching them together.
Lola is still becoming. Louie has become more of who he is.
But neither is better than the other. There is something beautiful about being curious and discovering, just as there is something beautiful about knowing yourself and having the confidence to share what you have to offer.
Maybe that’s true for us too.
We are all becoming, just at different stages, in different ways and at different speeds.
And perhaps the goal isn’t to arrive somewhere and finally become the person we’re meant to be, perhaps it’s to keep becoming.
To stay curious. To learn. To grow. To let life shape us without losing sight of who we are.
And if we’re lucky, to reach Louie’s stage of becoming. Knowing who we are, knowing what we have to offer, and being completely comfortable taking up our place in the world.
Preferably with a good nap and someone nearby willing to give us a pat.
