Joy Unleashed: Life Lessons from the Dog Park

When we first brought Mulder home—a wiggly, wide-eyed corgi puppy—he was bursting with energy and completely uninterested in walking on a leash. My husband and I discovered that the only surefire way to keep our tiny tornado from wreaking havoc inside the house was to give him plenty of playtime with other dogs. That’s how Bushrod Dog Park became part of our daily routine—initially out of necessity rather than choice. For the first few weeks, I stood on the field feeling awkward. I wished we could walk Mulder through the neighborhood to at least grab some steps for ourselves. But as the days turned into weeks, I noticed this “chore” was quickly becoming my favorite part of the day.

The first thing that drew me in was how present dogs are in every moment. Watching dozens of them romp and tumble—simply elated by grass, fresh air, and other wagging tails—served as a constant reminder that life’s small joys often hide in plain sight. Dogs don't care about looming deadlines, political drama, or the day’s stressers; they just lived for that very second, chasing each other in playful circles. Observing Mulder roll around with his new canine buddies revealed an almost meditative state of mind, showing me how stepping away from screens can help us notice life’s simple wonders.

X-Files Halloween Costume

An unexpected bonus was the tight-knit community that formed around us. At first, I only knew the dogs by name, and would wave vaguely at their owners. But as Mulder socialized, I found myself chatting with the same people every evening. Over time, we learned each other’s stories: Ursa's dad who produces NPR shows, Rosie's mom who writes best-selling novels, or Goose's dad who researches happiness at UC Berkeley. These fascinating folks, who all live just blocks away from me, became new friends I can rely on—whether it’s dog-sitting or signing for a package when someone’s out of town. Now we constantly run into dog park friends in the neighborhood, when before Mulder we knew no one.

Me in my Spacesuit

Bushrod Dog Park also became my daily ritual for transitioning out of “work mode.” In a world that increasingly blurs the line between home and office—thanks in no small part to remote work—having a consistent marker that signals the end of the day has been invaluable. By the time we leave the park, I’m not thinking about unanswered Slack messages or doom-scrolling through social media. My mind is quiet, and I can settle into my evening without dragging the day’s stress behind me. This reset has also benefited my relationship with my husband. Instead of each of us staring at our own screens, we stand side by side, chatting about our days as Mulder darts around, attempting to befriend (or bravely chase) dogs three times his size

On especially cold days, I arrive in a shiny, iridescent purple snowsuit lovingly referred to as the “spacesuit.” Whenever I skip it, my dog-park friends tease me for being “out of uniform” and ask why I’m not dressed like an astronaut. It sounds silly, but it’s become a hallmark of those chilly visits and keeps me comfortable enough to linger, sharing stories or laughs long after I might have hurried home in ordinary clothes. It’s these little details—the jokes, the routines, the lighthearted ribbing—that make the dog park feel like an extension of our home.

Bushrod at Sunset

And the park itself never fails to surprise me. One of the best-kept secrets of Bushrod is its stunning sunsets. With few buildings or tall trees blocking the horizon, the sky stretches out in a vivid display of oranges, pinks, purples, and golds. Standing there, soaking in the last glow of daylight, I’m often struck by the simple fact that we’re all just sharing a piece of grass, connected by our dogs and the day’s fading light. In winter, when darkness arrives early, the dogs wear flashing LED collars that turn the lawn into a mini-light show of zooming neon dots. It might be cold and dark by five o’clock, but the playful lights make the park feel more like an impromptu rave than a dreary January evening.

Wet, happy Mulder

It’s funny to remember how I once saw these daily dog-park trips as a tedious time-sink. Now, they’re a highlight of my day—a simple, grounding routine that’s given me new friendships, more quality time with my husband, and a way to break from the demands of work and life. Mulder still charges around, tackling dogs who tower over him, but my own perspective has changed entirely. Rather than counting the minutes or fretting about undone tasks, I find myself looking forward to that crisp air, the camaraderie, and the freedom to just be. And that’s the heart of what I’ve learned from a year at the dog park: we all need to step away from our screens, carve out space for community, and find ways to connect to the present. In those unplugged, in-between moments—whether you’re braving the cold in a “spacesuit” or watching the sky glow pink—genuine connection and real joy can flourish. This week, challenge yourself to get outside, be fully present, connect with another person, and discover how much wonder lies waiting in life’s simplest moments.

Mulder playing with Goose