Way too Freakin’ Perfect

I have a friend who seems flawless. First of all, she’s absolutely gorgeous, and it’s the kind of beauty that will still be stunning in old age. She’s extremely intelligent, has a job that she loves that allows her to travel all over the world, owns a cool house, has an amazing family and a great circle of friends, and she speaks 5 languages fluently. She also lives in a country where there’s universal health care. Not that she’ll ever need it, because she has a perfect body which is in perfect health. She loves her life. Who could ask for more?

Am I jealous? Heck yeah. Absolutely. And I say that with a great deal of chagrin. It took me a long time to admit it out loud, because I truly love her to pieces. When she tells me about one of her achievements, I am genuinely happy for her, really I am. Really. No! Really! But it’s coupled with, dare I say it? A soupçon of resentment. I do not like this about myself.

But here’s the thing. (And as a blogger friend of mine, pouringmyartout likes to say, “there’s always a thing.” Thanks Art, for making me think of THAT every time I say it.) I wouldn’t want her life. As far as I can tell, she hasn’t been in a long term romantic relationship since college. And she says she likes it that way. She lives alone and she has freedom. More power to her. But I think of her sometimes, alone in her wonderful house, looking amazing, and my heart does one of those little squeezy things, because I can’t imagine anything more lonely in the world than having the perfect life but having no one to share it with. I’m glad she’s happy, but I know I wouldn’t be in similar circumstances.

There’s always something, isn’t there?