What does bad dating have to do with reaching your full potential? Imagine a “tide me over” boyfriend (or girlfriend, or husband, or wife) — in your life. Someone you think you can bide the time with until Mr. or Ms. Wonderful walks in. And in walks a super hip, sassy and smart dating coach who’s on a mission to help you create fresh, lovely intimacy in a relationship. And she says, “What’s with the so-so boyfriend?” And you say, “I know I can do better; I know he’s kinda unspectacular. But I haven’t had any luck in finding a better one.” Cosmically talented dating coach then orders you to end it with the “I settled for…” boyfriend/girlfriend/friend-with-benefits that very weekend. Pronto. Uh-mee-dee-uht-lee. And you protest, “But who will I go to the company Christmas party with? Who will rub my feet on Friday nights?”
Angel of better dating dictates, “Hit the holiday party solo. Soak your tootsies in this space-age-esque massaging foot bath. You’ll figure it out. The sooner you get rid of the relationship clutter, the sooner the right guy will show up.” You resist, “But there’ll be a…big…hole beside me.”
Mistress of the dating flow says, “Yep! It’s called space! Every time you walk through the world with that space, you’ll be thinking about how great a new man is going to feel.”
You keep resisting, “But shouldn’t I try to attract the ideal guy first, before I get rid of the old one? Wait until I meet Mr. Newer-And-Better before I give Mr. Lackluster his walking papers?”
“Actually, it’s better if you don’t. Let the space be there. It’ll change the way you look at the whole relationship dynamic. And besides, maybe a date or a mate isn’t what’s best. You won’t know until you let go…of the one who’s taking up space.”
The light dawns. You pipe up, “You know, I really can’t wait to get rid of Mr. Mediocre.” Nodding. Grins. High fives and Hip bumps ensue. Action!
It’s a beautiful sight when right that very instant you send that other human – the one who’s right for somebody but isn’t right for you – to the cosmic garage for their re-purposing destiny. Letting go makes way for something closer to your truth…which is always more beautiful. Always.
Making space signals the universe that you’re ready for ideal…or at the very least, much improved.
Making space expands your being and clarifies (and dare I say, actually minimizes) your needs.
The Divine Law of the Could-be-Better-But-Could-Probably-Do-A lot-Worse boyfriend/husband/life-partner applies as much to friendships, furniture, and other household stuff, as it does to lovers, careers, and outdated, outmoded, unuseful thought forms.
Because: Going without, and holding out, is better than selling out. Always.
Let’s milk the disappointing dude metaphor a bit longer. You’ve got the “ugh” boyfriend (or…boss, or incessant critical thought, or crappy shoes,) in your space. Every time you come across it in your physical or psychic area, you consciously or subtly think, “Meh, that damn… boss guy…self-criticism…ugly, ill-fitting shoes.” And you affirm to yourself that it’s okay to put up with fugly or uncomfortable.
You make “making do” your normal. You’re giving up precious space to something that isn’t precious to you.
Things you don’t use. People who use you. Titles-possessions-roles-gigs that make you feel pinched, compressed, awkward, cheated, compromised, heavy, stifled, confused…stuffed — they need to go. You know this. But it’s not just because dumping the chump and reducing your carbon footprint is a rightful, socially and spiritually responsible and life-affirming action. It’s because possibility requires space to unfold.
Clear space. Expand possibility. Everywhere.
IMPORTANT ANNOTATION (CUZ IMMITATION IS THE HIGHEST FORM OF FLATTERY): I totally patterned this off a blog posting by Danielle LaPorte, whom I’ve dubbed a high priestess of authentic living and magical truth-telling. She wrote it about a different subject and the light bulb went on and illuminated the crossover potential and I KNEW I had to engineer her essay to speak to my own peeps, cos her stuff is like, biblical.