There’s that point at which the most hopeless romantic needs to suck it up and face reality. When you get dumped, get over it.
Pure and simple. He don’t want you no more. She is bored. Whichever the gender, face facts: That wonderful one no longer finds you so wonderful after all. It happens.
Hurts like hell. Talk about your world being spun on its axis, turned upside all around and a bunch of other clichés that suddenly make sense.
Okay, fine. Go ahead and lose your mind. Cuss a blue streak into empty air, sitting there feeling sorry for yourself. That’s natural.
What you don’t want to do, though, is waste your breath spending time and expending energy assailing him or her who has moved on. When they say they’re leaving, never mind groveling through a catalog of entreaties, kiss-asterisk begging them to see your light of their day.
Feelings of desperation don’t call for desperate measures. They call for pulling yourself together. They call for all the dignity you can, despite the pain, manage to muster.
When she or he says, “I’m leaving,” the best thing you can do is answer, “Goodbye.” If they were bluffing, just looking for more attention, that’s still the best answer, since all the intent was to manipulatively have control.
Either way, it’s time to find personal ground on which to stand. None of this is to say the experience isn’t painful. Look, life, in case you haven’t yet figured that out yet, is full of pain.
Who was it said, upon hearing Lou Rawls crooning “Love is a Hurting Thing,” that homebody was not just beating his gums. If you never thought that far, now’s an opportune time.
Did I already advise you to move on? Let me second my own motion.
Heal. Start with crying. Yes, you men, too. One reason women live longer is they don’t cripple themselves with emotional impotence. Besides, you know damned good and well that when your buddies ain’t around, you cry anyway. Something cleansing about it to the heart and soul.
Too manly to shed tears? Still need to heal. Sit alone with yourself. No, not ruminating on hateful thoughts about her. Just being at peace on your own terms.
Another no: Don’t go bag the first bimbo you can get between the sheets. If that’s your above-and-be-all inclination, she probably did herself her a big favor to cut you loose. Get next to the concept of having a self-concept transcending getting laid.
If that shoe doesn’t fit, if you weren’t a flea-bit dog in the first place, do things that aren’t based on having a woman. Yeah, yeah, play ball or shoot pool with the boys. Also, do the kinds of things you used to with a lady, only do them by yourself — movies, museums, walks in the park.
Be your own company, intimate, personal, close-to-the-skin company. And do it until you start to feel even a little bit better.
Here’s a tip: The better you learn to keep your own company, the less your chances of choosing a losing experience next time. It works out like that.
Bottom line, if she was the baddest babe on the planet, she’s gone and that’s that. Believe it or not, there’s a bunch of second-baddest ladies available for courting by a good man.
Ready for the kicker? Don’t forget to make sure it was her and not you. If, in your heart of hearts, you were wrong, might be a good time to get right.
Either way, pull your shoes on and step.
Dwight Hobbes welcomes reader responses to P.O. Box 50357, Mpls., 55403.
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