Grateful #39 - Envy. and what comes after it.

The line between jealousy and envy can be easily blurred; they are both awful feelings that result in possible acts of lunacy, irrational behavior, self-loathing, betrayal, and doubt. 

The big difference is that with jealousy, you end up having to apologize to others; with envy, you end up having to apologize to yourself. 

Harder than saying “I’m sorry,” is letting yourself off the hook. 

It started out very innocently – I was simply scrolling through the status updates and pictures added by my friends on facebook.  It wasn’t until the 4^th or 5^th picture of a beautiful cityscape or ocean view that I started to wonder what I was doing wrong in my life.  Everyone had these vacation photos, or even worse – pictures of distant cities and attractions that their jobs sent them off to explore on the company dollar – while all I can see when i hold up my camera phone is my own two feet.   

Enter evny.   Enter the wishing I was as smart, successful, and accomplished as someone else.  Enter the anger because I’m not. 

I spiraled down this envy path for a while.  The brutality of the self-talk one goes through when tumbling down the well of envy is not pretty.   Thankfully, my friend called and interrupted me.   While she was talking about something that was upsetting her, I heard myself say, “you gotta cut yourself some slack.”

Why is it so easy to tell someone that she has to let herself off the hook when she’s doing her best, but almost impossible to believe it’s ok for ourselves?   

Because when we’re beating ourselves up for not having, doing, or getting the things that other people have, feeling sorry for ourselves is much easier than accepting our shortcomings as temporary grievances - that maybe we’re a work in progress. 

And while we are forever talented at doling out the good advice and not taking it ourselves, it’s important that we find a way to take it.  We need to let ourselves off the hook sometimes.  Letting ourselves off the hook doesn’t mean we accept our current lot in life; it means we’re ok with not accepting it.   It means we can recognize where we have room to grow and we can actively take steps towards it.  I may not be vacationing in a little villa on the greek islands, or making any vertical leaps in my career path anytime soon, but I know that I want to – and I know that I can put energy towards those things without the damaging internal monologue.   I can let myself off the hook.

My gratitude is two-fold today.  This may sound backwards, but I am grateful for feeling envious.  Because it’s an uncontrollable, automatic response, it’s a damn good indicator as to what it is we really want (whether it be superficial or deep. Whether it be actual things or the idea of being able to get the things).   Feeling envious is kind of a really round-about way of goal setting.  The important part here is not the envy-induced goals, but what you do with that list afterwards.  Give yourself a break.  Recognize what it is that you want and be ok with not having it.  Be ok with trying to tweak some parts in order to get it.  You wouldn’t tell a friend that she is doomed to forever be inadequate, so you shouldn’t tell yourself that either.  The next time you try to put the wind back in someone else’s sails, give yourself a break and feel the breeze, too

Grateful #38 - listening to our bodies. our temples.

It’s usually our brain.  The thing we fight against, the thing we battle with, plead with, sometimes lose the fight to – it’s usually our brain.  It’s usually our brain that we try to silence when we know we shouldn’t do something that we really want to do.  I am very familiar with this internal struggle, but this time, my brain is not the problem.

I do things to the extremes –when I love something, I love it to excess, and when I do not like something, I want nothing to do with it.  

I am also a creature of habit.   Add excess to habit, and you have the makings of a very good addict. 

My addiction is not exactly unhealthy.  I don’t do drugs and I only have a drink or two on very rare occasions; I know myself better than to think I could do those things in moderation, so I never made them a habit.  Drinking coffee, however, is something that I took out of the average 1-3 mugs per day range, and multiplied it by a billion.  If you look over in my direction, it’s a safe bet  that you’ll see a cup of coffee in my hand.  I didn’t realize how much coffee I was actually consuming, despite the running commentary my friends and family make every time they see me pour another cup.  To me, it was normal.  My normal.  My normal excess.   

So I decided to cut my coffee consumption in half.  While the motivation for this is probably a whole other diatribe in itself, the important part is that I was trying to un-excess something that I love.   And my brain was completely on board; for three weeks I drank 4 cups of coffee per day instead of 8.  I was not battling anything – I was simply drinking much less coffee.   Yesterday, however, time got away from me, when I noticed that it was almost midnight and I only had 3 cups of coffee all day.  I noticed this because my body rebelled against me and the headache that pounded through the walls of my head was so bad, that I had to make a cup of coffee at midnight in order to numb the pain.    

Addiction is mind over matter.  Unless it’s not.  Unless it’s something you can’t talk down off the ledge.  Unless it’s your body’s rebellion.   No matter how much you tell your head to stop hurting, you can’t talk it away.  There’s literally nothing you can do about that pain except endure it.    

I am grateful for the not-so-gentle reminder that our bodies really are our temples. When our bodies are rebelling against us, it’s time examine what we’re doing to cause the rebellion.  We can ignore so many of the things we do to our bodies because they don’t produce such a visceral effect; we can think the bad things away by ignoring them.  But I can’t ignore this; it’s big and bold and it’s telling me to be more conscious.   I often wonder if anyone ever really listens to me.  But more importantly,  I should actually stop and listen to myself, my body, first. 

Gratful #37 - my mom's handwriting

Whenever I see my mom’s handwriting, I smile.  Like a natural reflex, the underlined, words, dashes and exclamation marks truly incite the excitement.   Whether on an envelope, package, or note, my mom’s handwriting signals to me that she took the time to find a way to show me how much loves me. 

We see and hear things that remind us of the people we love fairly often.  It may be fleeting, but we all do it.   Sometimes, we even make a mental note to tell our loved ones that we thought of them.  Occasionally, we buy the card, the cute knick-knack, or the book that we know they would absolutely love.  And although we have the best intentions, it’s not as often that we actually follow through. 

My mom follows through. 

Seeing her handwriting means that she followed through.  A little gift just because.  A note to say hello.   A spontaneous care package.  Words of encouragement when I'm having a hard time.  Words of praise when I'm doing great things. 

For 17 years, since the day I moved away and went to college, I have not lived in the same state as my parents.  But for those 17 years, my mom’s handwriting has landed on my doorstep or in my mailbox many, many more times than the standard birthday card.  Especially in a time when sending an email is so much easier than writing a letter, going to the post office, or mailing a package, seeing my mom’s handwriting is one more things she has taught me about how to love someone.  By following through.  By doing the little things. 

As we are grow up, we notice ourselves doing things our mother’s do – and it’s some kind of coming-of-age joke to gasp in horror and swear that we said we would never be like our mothers!   But when I find myself following through by sending a card, writing a little note, or finding a creative way to show someone how much I care about them, I realize that there’s no one else in the world I would rather be like than my mom.