on envy

A wise man once told me that he imagined he was sitting at a table with a group of people. One by one, everyone unloaded all their problems on the table and everyone could see all the humiliating challenges they were facing.

When it came to his turn, he did the same. He surveyed all his problems, sandwiched there between everyone else’s, and said, “No thanks, I’d rather keep mine.” He gathered them all back up and tucked them safely…back where he kept them (in his backpack?).

I feel envy when a runner whizzes by me as I’m out for a walk. I wish that I, too, could run for miles and miles. “It must be so easy for them,” I tell myself as I watch their powerful limbs all working in harmony. “They must have suddenly sprouted the ability to be athletic gods.”

I feel envy when I am in a garden with honeysuckle spilling over the fence and fresh berries begging to be picked. “Wow,” I think to myself, “some people really can garden.” I imagine the humans responsible for such opulence confidently sowing seeds in the ground at just the right time, coaxing sprouts from the ground, and watching them burst into fat blooms, all while laughing wittily from underneath a straw hat. “It must be so easy for them,” I think, lips pursed. “They must have done this all in a single weekend, and now look at that incredible landscape.”

I feel wistful envy of people who have financial abundance, whether they worked really hard for it or were given money from family. How amazing would it be to have more than enough? They must have followed all the rules — gotten a degree, knew all the right people, climbed up the ladder. “It must be so easy for them,” I chortle. “Buying groceries and paying bills is probably very relaxing for them.” Their future is bright, and that’s the long and the short of it.

But then I imagine us at that table, taking turns showcasing all the things that keep us up at night. Suddenly, I’m aware that though some people’s success dazzles me, that’s only a fraction of the story.

I can’t see their loneliness or the time when their first business failed. I can’t see the debt they’re in or how they often wish they were in someone else’s shoes. I can’t see how hard they worked to renovate their home, giving up evenings and weekends and working themselves to the bone. I can see that they make $250K but can’t see that they have no idea where it all goes, and that they’re deep in debt. That they’re worried they don’t have enough. I can’t see the various kinds of addiction, the hollowness, that even though they regularly run twenty miles on the trail and look quite glamorous, they have wild joint pain and they’re panicked about what that means for their exercise goals and their health when they’re older. I can’t see that they just got horrifying news and they’re trying to just get through the day without dissolving. I don’t know that they have a vicious mother in law or they have to get all their teeth removed or they’re pregnant with quintuplets (see what I mean? We could be here all day).

I assume we’re all battling multiple evils, with fear making everything even worse.

Wondering about what is happening behind the scenes for people always makes me more grateful for my own setup, and suddenly I don’t wish I was in someone else’s shoes. I’m grateful for my own shoes. I feel more compassion for everyone, including me, because being alive is really hard.

“Envying others can prevent us from being happy for them, from celebrating their good fortune.” - someone I know

This method also works when I’m around people who annoy me. This weekend, I was poolside in Reno with my sister, my brother-in-law, and my boi. Across the teal waters was a huddle of teenage girls. They were making a lot of noise and passing their phones around, occasionally yelling “ZADDY” or “PUMPKIN” and then dissolving into giggles. I was unimpressed. I could hear them talking about cheerleading practice. This made it worse.

“Teenagers are so annoying,” I informed my squad as I yelled “ICE CREAM” at my sister over the fence. One of the teenagers mimicked me and I rolled my eyes. What an ~annoying~ thing to do.

It sparked a conversation amongst my squad about how we were as teens. I remembered that when I was younger, I, too, was obnoxious. However, I wasn’t a mere shallow, ignorant halfling, and neither were the buffoons across the turbid divide. I had all kinds of relationships and quests and burdens. I was an entire person.

What, am I allowed to yell and they aren’t? Hmm?

I am loud, I know this. I take up a lot of space. So I humbly accepted this feedback from myself and my squad. I appreciated being gently called out, and I also appreciated curiosity and compassion being woven into the discussion, because then guess what happened? I felt less uncomfortable around those ninnies.

One thing is for sure: people always surprise me. Even folks I’ve known for ages. Even my own siblings. I will never know anyone’s whole story, why they are the way they are, why they believe what they believe. We want what others have, we despise people, we’re making assumptions about who others are because we can’t know the whole story. We can only see a fraction of it. Taking a big step back and wondering about what history/feelings/unmet needs people are carrying has become one of the most helpful things I do.

When I think of trading places with someone, I think of all the things in my day to day that I would sorely miss. All I have is right now, and I’d rather be here mentally than anywhere else. As I write this, I’m next to the river. The sun is on my skin and the air is fresh and clean. I’m moving my body and it feels good. Two friends are on a walk and they reach for each other and hug while they maintain their speed. Someone coming toward me on the bike path is doing lunges. I give them a thumbs up. The river flows on and on and on and the birds keep each other in the loop. The breeze rolls over my skin. It’s real, it’s now, it’s ours. I have abundance.

Presence is gratitude.

snapped by Jaime Del Pizzo :)