I have six friends who have always had some combination of the following: Good looks. Happy marriages. Dream jobs. The ability to travel extensively. Plenty of money. Gorgeous houses. Excellent health. A secure retirement nest egg. And I’m happy for them. Really I am. It couldn’t happen to nicer people.
But I have to admit that sometimes when I hear of their latest success or incredible run of good luck, I get a little irritated as well. Oh, who am I kidding? I’m jealous as hell. Because mine has not been a life full of those attributes, and at my age, the ship has sailed on most of those things. That’s just a simple fact. Most of us were not born with the Midas touch. Lord knows I wasn’t.
It’s not that I wish them divorce or unemployment or illness. I don’t wish that on anyone, especially on someone I love. It’s just that when I congratulate them, at the same time my inner child is wailing, “Why not meeeeeeeee?” If that makes me seem a little less sincere, I can’t seem to help it.
That’s a really putrid feeling to have, because I can also look over my shoulder and see millions, if not billions, of people who are much worse off than I’ll ever be. I seem to have hit that sweet spot where I feel bitter, and simultaneously feel guilty about that bitterness. Great.
The advice I give myself, which I seem to struggle to take, is to stop comparing myself to others and just live my life, warts and all. What can I say? I’m a work in progress.
[Image credit: pinterest.com]
Leave a Reply to The View from a DrawbridgeCancel reply