I was eating jelly beans last night when one fell onto the floor.
The inaudible crash could only alert a dog.
Cocooned inside his blanket, my four-year-old chihuahua mix hurried to untangle himself and jumped to the floor.
I assumed he ate his serendipitous snack and went along with my own candy eating.
The next morning, I realized the orange jelly bean was still there. Why didn’t he eat it?
Confused, I pointed it out. He sniffed it, looked at me, and turned away.
Like many dogs, mine is dramatic when it comes to food. At dinner time, he acts like he hasn’t eaten in weeks. He stares at me like he’s a prisoner requesting his last meal. His pupils almost reach the depths of my soul.
He’s not usually a picky eater. Like a child, he rejects vegetables. But he’s developed a refined palate for anything sugary, salty, or processed.
Except for this jelly bean.
What was doubly confusing is that he’s eaten jelly beans before.
One time, I lined up a few flavors. He sniffed and picked his favorite one.
He used to be a fan of the orange jelly bean. He’d take any opportunity to even be near one.
But here it was, still sitting on the floor.
Given how he’d eat just about anything, why not this jelly bean?
Then it occurred to me, just because you can have something doesn’t mean you have to take it.
Even when you’re desperate, you don’t need to accept any morsel that’s given to you.
. . .
If You Can, Should You?
Ultimately, I’m not sure why my dog was so repulsed by the orange jelly bean. They’re little bursts of sunshine in your mouth.
Maybe he forgot how good they were. Or he thought it looked hard. Maybe it smelled like nothing.
In any case, my dog, who’s desperate for human food, rejected human food.
He came to the conclusion that even though it was what he was looking for, it didn’t exactly fit his criteria. Too pebble-like. Too orange. Too not-sugar smelling. Whatever.
It’s a good lesson for all of us.
When we’re looking for something and we find it, is it worth having? Should we keep it?
Sometimes, we may be forced to accept morsels. If we’re broke, some money is better than no money.
Other times though, we have a choice — we just choose to forfeit what we want or need. This will be good enough, we think.
Many of us accept less than what we’re looking for. We lower our criteria because it fits the category. We may convince ourselves we’re too picky, so we should settle for less.
We often accept morsels in relationships. If we’re uncomfortable being alone, we might end up with someone who isn’t right. Because we’re unwilling to wait it out for a better person, we rationalize accepting a relationship that doesn’t meet our needs.
In some of my relationships, the small things eventually became the big things. What I was willing to accept began building up. I started realizing that I’d coached myself to accept less. I had to take responsibility for choosing to stay with someone who was giving me less than what I deserved.
Logically, seeing that my energy isn’t being reciprocated should mean an easy split. It never does though. If I’ve been with someone while imagining myself single can be painful. I don’t want to be alone again. I don’t want to spend all that time building a connection with someone else, if I even ever find someone. I don’t want to go without sex. Or cuddling. Or someone to kill the disgusting centipedes in my apartment on damp days.
To keep those benefits, do I accept the rest? The no efforts given? Lack of affection? The yelling and insulting? Inconsistencies? Stonewalling? Lying?
For some time, we may accept the orange jelly beans. We sniff it out, decide it’s not what we want, but we still eat it. We tell ourselves there might never be an orange jelly bean, or any jelly bean at all, ever again. In this light, we become the chosen ones with the hard-to-turn-down decision.
We fool ourselves into thinking we’re lucky the opportunity of the orange jelly bean has been bestowed upon us.
. . .
Desperation vs. What You Deserve
We might chew on the candy for a while.
Usually, though, in time, we spit the jelly bean back out. If we’re smart, we stop eating them altogether.
Like my dog, I’m beginning to trust that other opportunities will come along. I don’t need to settle for something I don’t truly want.
I don’t need to accept things that don’t pass the sniff test.
I can look the opportunity straight in the eye, then look away.
Spitting the jelly bean out might look like putting my foot down in unhealthy relationships. If nothing changes and a partner is unhappy, it could mean having the courage to leave. Even though I worry I’ll never meet someone again, I have faith that another type of jelly bean exists.
Rejecting the orange jelly bean altogether is a harder lesson. I think it’s one that might require spitting them out, over and over, until you just can’t stomach another one. (This is just one example of how my dog is wiser than me.)
When we reject eating the candy we don’t like, we stop saying yes when we really mean “maybe,” “I guess?” or “if it’s the best I can get.”
Rejecting the orange jelly bean means holding on until you’re offered the flavor that you want and deserve.
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This post was previously published on Hello, Love.
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