I saw something recently that made me jealous.
Not wildly, irrationally jealous. Nothing dramatic. Just that small, internal flicker you get when someone else has something you want.
My first instinct was the socially acceptable one.
Good for her.
And I meant it.
But there was another feeling underneath it.
Fuck. I want that.
We’re taught to treat that second response as something to correct. Jealousy is petty. Envy is unattractive. Comparison is the thief of joy. Be grateful for what you have. Yadda, yadda, yadda.
All of which is probably very sound advice.
But I think we’ve become so good at policing envy that we sometimes miss the information hiding inside it.
Because what if envy isn’t always telling you something about the other person?
What if it’s telling you something about you?
Envy is incredibly specific
There are thousands of people more successful than me.
I am not envious of all of them.
There are people with bigger businesses, more money, enormous audiences, incredible houses, bestselling books, extraordinary careers.
I came across a quote recently that I haven’t been able to stop thinking about: “Envy no one. For whatever you see, a price was paid.”
It’s a useful antidote to the particular insanity of comparing your entire life to the one visible dimension of someone else’s. The business might have cost them their freedom, or time with kids, of the health of their relationships. The extraordinary career might have required a version of self-sacrifice you don’t actually want.
As always, the beautiful life you’re looking at has a backstage you know absolutely nothing about.
Most of the time, I can look at those things and think that’s amazing without wanting any of it for myself.
And then occasionally…
