Venus envy
In the last week, I have been on an envy spree, thanks to: some young man blithely plowing through a cheeseburger and mountain of fries (just wait twenty years, fella); a woman pushing a pristine cast-iron casserole in her thrift-shop cart (why didn't I see that?); the neighbour receiving her weekly impressive bouquet (the expense!); and the friend sending a colour commentary on the inaugural ball of a Latin American president (oh, to be that close to history!).
And that is not even counting Instagram, where perfect (pun intended) strangers paddle in Tanzania or cavort on Maui. I always feel a surge of envy when I see travel shots. For forty-five seconds, I feel a little pokey and stuck, and definitely adventure-deficient.
A teacher, the late Angles Arrien, advised us to view others' good fortune as a gift to both of us, and therefore, to turn our attention to our own wishes, dreams, possibilities, even fantasies. She proposed what some Buddhists call "loving envy", a far more useful consciousness than that of curdled resentment: a benevolent acceptance, even if we cannot always muster wholehearted joy.
Loving envy opens us to life's vastness, beauty, magnificence. When I go to that place, I feel much better, freed of corrosive want. But then there are pearls.
Alice, owner of the restyled Tahitian pearl necklace, visited recently. Over coffee, she put the piece in my hands. Immediately, Alice and the café fell away. The pearls and I were alone together: shimmering cherry and pistachio Tahitians and all the interesting new bits: crystal, keshis, freshwaters. Her voice broke my reverie. She said, "What are you thinking?" I answered instantly: "I want them!" Alice heard this as it was meant, a heartfelt appreciation.
I had not ducked longing. Later, at home, I took out my pearls and contemplated a similar reno. Will I do it? Who knows? But I learned from that, too. The toughest envy to surmount is when you have a good shot at achieving a similar experience, but it is presently out of reach.
My university roommate's younger sister, Anita, would agree. After her friend A. was awarded a MacArthur Fellowship, the well-known "Genius Grant"; Anita could not bear to visit her.
Her envy felt like The Alien had sprung from her belly; the intensity shocked and shamed her. It shrieked within continually, I was that good; I was better. How did they know about her and not me? (The nominees are submitted by an anonymous committee, not by application.)
Anita had lunch with her former manager, which she initiated hoping to hear affirmation that she could have won the Fellowship. But she did not get that; he asked only if Anita thought the Foundation's process was fair. The man's refusal to staunch Anita's wound was as biting as hydrogen peroxide on a fresh cut, and as important, because Anita was infected with envy.
She realized that her resentment had poisoned—and could well end—the cherished friendship. She re-read her own accolades and congratulatory notes and placed them in a dedicated box. "Is that enough?" I asked. "Not quite, she said, smiling, "but it's what I have." She added, "A financially freeing, magnificently prestigious grant: that was always my dream—not that I would surpass her. "
Anita called her envy of an exceptional woman, Venus Envy.
Envy need not be proportionate to achievement; it only takes the Instagrammed tray of macarons posted by a friend during her pastry class in Paris to stir the twinge of Why Not Me?
Envy is so often self-judgement in disguise: I'm lazy, talentless, clumsy. This is a subset, Silly Envy. In my right mind, I know I can't be, do, see everything. What the younger generation calls FOMO (Fear of Missing Out) is for me called Reality.
The antidote to Silly Envy is to act; even the tiniest positive action assuages the sulky, pecking voice. Because it is very silly, isn't it, envying somebody's cookie—even if it's Paris?
And if I think my longing is indeed significant, I can rouse myself, put on some Patricia Kaas to get in the mood, and make macarons. Who cares if they list a little?
And that is not even counting Instagram, where perfect (pun intended) strangers paddle in Tanzania or cavort on Maui. I always feel a surge of envy when I see travel shots. For forty-five seconds, I feel a little pokey and stuck, and definitely adventure-deficient.
A teacher, the late Angles Arrien, advised us to view others' good fortune as a gift to both of us, and therefore, to turn our attention to our own wishes, dreams, possibilities, even fantasies. She proposed what some Buddhists call "loving envy", a far more useful consciousness than that of curdled resentment: a benevolent acceptance, even if we cannot always muster wholehearted joy.
Loving envy opens us to life's vastness, beauty, magnificence. When I go to that place, I feel much better, freed of corrosive want. But then there are pearls.
Alice, owner of the restyled Tahitian pearl necklace, visited recently. Over coffee, she put the piece in my hands. Immediately, Alice and the café fell away. The pearls and I were alone together: shimmering cherry and pistachio Tahitians and all the interesting new bits: crystal, keshis, freshwaters. Her voice broke my reverie. She said, "What are you thinking?" I answered instantly: "I want them!" Alice heard this as it was meant, a heartfelt appreciation.
I had not ducked longing. Later, at home, I took out my pearls and contemplated a similar reno. Will I do it? Who knows? But I learned from that, too. The toughest envy to surmount is when you have a good shot at achieving a similar experience, but it is presently out of reach.
My university roommate's younger sister, Anita, would agree. After her friend A. was awarded a MacArthur Fellowship, the well-known "Genius Grant"; Anita could not bear to visit her.Her envy felt like The Alien had sprung from her belly; the intensity shocked and shamed her. It shrieked within continually, I was that good; I was better. How did they know about her and not me? (The nominees are submitted by an anonymous committee, not by application.)
Anita had lunch with her former manager, which she initiated hoping to hear affirmation that she could have won the Fellowship. But she did not get that; he asked only if Anita thought the Foundation's process was fair. The man's refusal to staunch Anita's wound was as biting as hydrogen peroxide on a fresh cut, and as important, because Anita was infected with envy.
She realized that her resentment had poisoned—and could well end—the cherished friendship. She re-read her own accolades and congratulatory notes and placed them in a dedicated box. "Is that enough?" I asked. "Not quite, she said, smiling, "but it's what I have." She added, "A financially freeing, magnificently prestigious grant: that was always my dream—not that I would surpass her. "
Anita called her envy of an exceptional woman, Venus Envy.
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| Photo: cakemerchant.com |
Envy is so often self-judgement in disguise: I'm lazy, talentless, clumsy. This is a subset, Silly Envy. In my right mind, I know I can't be, do, see everything. What the younger generation calls FOMO (Fear of Missing Out) is for me called Reality.
The antidote to Silly Envy is to act; even the tiniest positive action assuages the sulky, pecking voice. Because it is very silly, isn't it, envying somebody's cookie—even if it's Paris?
And if I think my longing is indeed significant, I can rouse myself, put on some Patricia Kaas to get in the mood, and make macarons. Who cares if they list a little?
Comments
BTW: I baked the oatmeal cookies from the recipe that you included in a post a couple of months ago and they are excellent! Thanks to you and your husband for sharing the recipe.
Best, Jane
Thankyou
That is because we may not, in that instant of jealousy, be looking at the broader picture. What do we have- that we fail to count as precious and irreplaceable - good health, a good mind and maybe some talents (even if they are not world-shattering), maybe a loving partner or family or friends, parents and family who loved us...These are not glittering prizes, but the evidence is they are much more predictive of long term happiness and fulfilment. We do not know what the future will bring to us and to them.
The jealousy could be the sign that something is not quite right with us, that perhaps we need to reconsider what we are doing, how we are doing it, and who we are doing it with.
Maybe we can say to ourselves - that award is right for our friend, at that time in their life. But we are different, and we have unique gifts to contribute.
Friendship is a great gift, and to jeopardize it is a terrible mistake - better to focus on what this friend has already brought into your life (before the award) and what you can bring to this friendship in the future.
(One of life's hard won lessons)
Back in the 80's, my dad and his wife were very into the "self-actualization" movement. They took me to a few seminars and while I thought a lot of it was a bit "woo woo", I did pick up a few nuggets that have served me well over the years. One is that if you resent other people for having something you want, it throws up roadblocks to ever having that yourself (or recognizing something even better for you). Envy is OK, if you can pivot and say to yourself, "cool! I want that too!" If nothing else, it helps diffuse any resentment and hard feelings. I'm grateful to have learned this early-ish in life.
Susan B: My new mantra: "Cool, I want that too!" So refreshingly honest and human.
lagatta: Um, I think that's vanity—unless you are looking at the neck of say, Keira Knightly ;) But I see how the vanity and envy are linked, how one feeds the other. I too feel lethargic after the restricted movement of last winter.
LauraH: That which we truly prize is a lightening rod for envy. How keenly we can envy someone in the midst of a life experience do not presently have, or never had but hoped for. We may also have wishes, longings—and those usuallly burble away stay at that less painful level— but envy comes in when we see that someone else has it, and we don't.
Thank you for finding this topic interesting!