This is Dunkin…
This is Dunkin obsessing about his treat…
Matt claims that I have the same personality as the puppy I rescued back in February. When I look at Dunkin prancing around, happy to see everyone, tearing up pillows, and begging for Blue to play with him, I think, “Naw! I’m nothing like the puppy.”
But as I was dutifully completing my morning pages today, I noticed something happening with the puppy that I could definitely relate to – treat obsession. I’m not talking about the kind of obsession where you get something good and need more and more and more of it till you end up on the show “Hoarders.”
No… I’m talking about obsession in the other direction. The crazed, wild-eyed drive that pushes you to take that one single treat and obsess about losing it. As I watched this poor, little, stressed out dog whine his way back and forth between the bedroom and our back office, panicking, trying desperately to find the perfect hiding place for his prized possession, I couldn’t help but recognize a similar streak of behavior in myself.
How many times have I had the world at my feet and freaked out about losing it? Forget about taking a deep breath and smiling about how lucky I was in that moment. Instead, I looked to my neighbors and thought, “What do they have that I need so my perfect situation can be even MORE perfect?!” Then I would proceed to work even HARDER to keep just out of arms reach of the terrible feeling that it was all going to come crashing down, that I was going to f*&% it all up, that someone would steal it from out of my hands.
So I’d whine and run around (à la Dunkin), frantically trying to find the perfect hiding spot… not for the treat that I was completely missing out on. But for the delicate body of ego that secretly whispered, “Hey, girl. You don’t deserve this. Don’t even consider enjoying the moment or being grateful for what you’ve got right now. Get a move on to defend it and protect it because it’ll be gone before you know it. Be harder. Be stronger than the rest. Keep your fists flying in front of your face, cuz the sh*% is about to hit the fan.”
I think by now Dunkin has found his cherished hiding place. I can no longer hear him trying to dig into the Saltillo tile to bury his pig ear. But as he trots by, proud of his work, I wonder… Where is the satisfaction of enjoying his treat? Where is the happiness found in savoring the sweetness of his reward? And more importantly, how often have I missed out on life’s treats because I was too busy letting it collect dust in the back corner of my bedroom closet?