A few weeks ago I did something I almost never do. I packed a bag and got on a plane with no plan at all. There's a direct flight from Vancouver to Iceland. No research, no itinerary. I let the universe figure out the details.
I'd been pushing too hard for a while — preparing courses, writing, recording interviews, working on the new and exciting leash design, helping my team evolve and be happy with work and life so we can help you and your dog to feel much better than you would expect as they age.
But every few years, my body and my mind remind me: Peter, stop!
So I stopped. Cashed in my air miles and ended up in Iceland.
It's a small country, just over 400,000 people, sitting on a literal crack in the earth where two continents are slowly pulling apart and letting the planet's molten core seep through to form the island.
The results are otherworldly. Countless active volcanoes, hot springs, moss covered mountains, vast glaciers, wild rivers, lush green pastures where sheep and sturdy little horses graze in harmony.
The pace is slow, the one we all would enjoy, but are having a hard time to achieve in our busy lives. And then there are the birds, ducks, geese, seabirds including the cute puffins.
I booked a kayaking tour at Glacier Lagoon, where Europe's largest glacier breaks apart and flows into the sea.
Some of the giant icebergs that calve off are blue, others blue-white with black stripes showing the volcano eruption times in dark ash deposits. For days, these beautiful sculptures float in the lagoon, changing as days progress. Sometimes they are still, at other times, they flip upside down.
After several days, they pause near the mouth of a shallow river until they're small enough to pass through. Paddling among them in a kayak was breathtaking.
Eventually, the remnants of the icebergs are swept by the river, ending up in the ocean, where waves wash them out on the nearby black lava sand beach called Diamond Beach.
The sight is surreal.
The scattered ice looks like glitter in the sand, resembling large diamonds. They are tossed by the waves, changing shape and size, eventually breaking up before vanishing in the ocean.
Right there, as I witness the icebergs' life coming to an end (or the beginning) something clicked for me.
I think we're drawn to glaciers and icebergs because they're us.
We break off from the family glacier when we're born. We drift through our own lake of life, sometimes calm, sometimes turning upside down and constantly changing. And one day, like the ice on that beach, we return to the sea.
But it doesn’t make me sad. It's a reminder of how much it matters how we and our dogs navigate through life.
That's really the heart of everything you and I are trying to do. I want your dog's time, and yours, to be as clear, beautiful and shiny as one of those icebergs before it reaches the ocean, hopefully many many years from now.
I want you to be able to say: My dog is doing so much better than expected. My dog plays like a puppy again!
