We used to have a dog called Rosie. She was a great dog, she loved people, and was an enthusiastic part of the family.

But dogs are also messy. Part of the cost of having a dog in the family is cleaning up after them, sometimes they bark excessively, they sleep on the good furniture when you aren’t looking and make it dirty, they eat your best pair of shoes, they dig holes in your garden, and when you need to be away from your house for a while, you need to organise someone to care for them.

I never really liked this “messiness” about having a dog, and I used to think that when Rosie eventually died, it might be nice to not have a dog, and not have to worry about all that stuff anymore. I loved Rosie, but in those moments when she made be angry because she slobbered all over my biscuit I was just about to eat, I would sometimes think about not having a dog one day, and how it would be nice to not have to deal with the “mess”.

And then one day Rosie did die, quite unexpectedly, and I was surprised that I missed her much more than I thought I would. I miss her joy, love, and enthusiasm she had for me every time I came home from work. And while I do enjoy not having to deal with all the mess that comes from having a dog, the tradeoff is that I don’t have all the good things to enjoy either.

Life in general is like that. If I want to, I can disengage from life and from people, and avoid some of the “messiness” of life. Life can be complicated. People can be messy. Engaging with people can bring things into your life that cause discomfort. But by removing yourself from life and people, you also miss out on the soaring highs that come from real relationships and intimacy.

Life is messy. But I’m learning that diving into the mess and sharing it with people brings a much fuller life than trying to pull back and live a quiet life on your own.