This morning, I locked eyes with my dog mid-coffee sip, and I swear he tilted his head and judged me. Not in a cute “aw you’re my human” way. No. It was more of a “hmm…interesting choices you’re making for yourself lately” kind of tilt.

And I’ll be honest: he’s not wrong.

I’ve been waking up later than usual, answering emails that feel like digital riddles from a bureaucratic Sphinx, and trying to meal-prep while pretending that a jar of olives and leftover birthday cake count as balanced nutrition. I have seven tabs open in my brain and none of them are responding. One of them is just playing circus music.

Meanwhile, my dog , who is ten pounds of dachshund power, has his routine locked in. He stretches with the grace of a yoga instructor, demands cuddles like a confident therapist, and barks at imaginary intruders like he’s protecting state secrets. He lives in the moment, lives for snacks, and absolutely refuses to internalize shame. King behavior.

So today, I’m asking myself: What would my dog do?

The answer is probably nap in a sunspot and then joyfully destroy a squeaky toy. Honestly, not a bad model for managing existential dread.

So here’s to being a little more dog and a little less chaotic spreadsheet. To vibing with purpose, demanding love loudly, and rejecting toxic productivity in favor of well-timed snacks.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to take a walk. I might even sniff a tree for the full experience.