Gnawing The Bone

There are some things we hold on to even though we know full well that we shouldn’t.  We recognize that the time for letting go has long arrived, yet still we hold on.

I know for example that it’s immature to want to prove to all the men who -  in my mind – have rejected me just how wrong they were. Yet I continue to cling to the  “I’ll show him what a big mistake he made rejecting me / he’ll be sorry he let me go”  bone.

It’s a little childish, but it’s comforting. Empowering somehow to gnaw on this bone in anticipation of  it finally breaking open to release the sweet juices of  vindication I am convinced will be my reward.

I imagine how thrilling it will be when realization of regret hits those foolish rejecters. When their blindfolds are removed to reveal to them my true brilliance, beauty and uniqueness. They will be amazed by how skinny and successful and brand-spanking-shiny new I’ve become. I imagine how shamefully they’ll be forced to slink away upon seeing me with the handsomer, taller, better and obviously more intelligent man who snatched me up.

How dumb will they feel when recognition of what they COULD have had hits home? Opportunity missed. Gift horse looked dead in its gaping, slobbery mouth!

So I keep at my bone. Biting down a little harder as I imagine myself looking sadly upon the rejecters as they weep at the lack of foresight which led them to not choose me.  I imagine impassioned pleadings for second chances and magnanimous forgiveness.  The jerk of sobbing shoulders. The clutching of fistfuls of tear-soaked tissues. The mournful hanging of heads weighed down by regret and anchored by defeat.  The dragging, shuffling walk of men walking away from the treasure they know they have lost.  Me!

I sigh  blissfully as I picture myself shaking my head in pity while I turn back into the arms of  my new, anatomically correct, emotionally mature, spiritually enlightened , good-smelling, well-dressed, generally perfect new man.

See what I mean?  It’s really easy to shore up my battered self-esteem and tattered pride with these rampant and overly dramatic imaginings.

I know I shouldn’t do it. I know it’s spiritually immature and I’m better than that.  I really do know better.  I also know that I’m running out of excuses for me living from that place of ego. I’ve read the books, attended the classes. I received and read the memo.

Yes. I definitely know.

It’s time to loosen my grip, unhinge my jaw and let the bone drop.

I know all this.

However, in the interests of being kind to myself, I’m letting myself gnaw just a little bit longer.  Like a dog backed into a corner, I  see that there is no escape. The universe has been gently tugging this bone away from me for a while and its inevitable that I will soon have no choice but to drop it.

It will soon be time for the letting go.

I won’t get to bury it, or hide it away. There is no treasure in it after all.  I’ll just drop it onto the ground where it can be bleached by the sun and pounded on by the rain until it dissolves down into the dirt.

Yes. I’ll have to drop it soon, but until then…

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