I'll never be like her

I keep a list on my phone of things I want to blog about in the future. Lacking inspiration recently, I was studying the list, hoping that something there would spark and I would remember what I meant by "timing" or "blind date."

One thing on my list reads "Comparing myself to others - vicious cycle." I had a vague idea about what I was thinking when I wrote that, but try as I might, nothing was coming to mind. Honestly, I've been feeling pretty good about myself lately, so I didn't feel like fleshing that idea out was necessary.

Then yesterday, I went blogsurfing, and I immediately remembered what I'd be thinking when I wrote myself that note.

You see, this girl whose blog I was perusing is an acquaintance, someone I've actually known for more than six years now. We've never been friends and probably never will be, but that's fine.

What's not fine is me reading her blog and then letting my jealousy get the best of me. As I kept clicking "Older Post" and reading more, I kept thinking things like,

"Ugh. She's so skinny. I'll never be that skinny. No wonder that ensemble looks so good on her."

"She has a weekly dinner party? I wish I had friends I could set that up with. Wait, they meet more than once a week!?"

"I wish people commented on every single one of my posts too."

"I wish I traveled as much as she does."

"She's so popular. I'll never be that popular."

It's sick. Fortunately, my rational brain starts piping in a little bit too.

"But you're not super fat. Do you have to lifted from your house by crane? No. Do people still say you're pretty? Yes. Right. Then shush, go to the gym a little more and stop worrying about it."

"You'd hate the stress of entertaining friends three times a week. Introvert, remember? Maybe if it were a rotating thing at different houses. And, besides, she has roommates who can help and make up of half the dinner party anyway. She might not even be the official hostess. So shut it!"

"People do comment on your blog. All of your blogs. And it increases the more often you write. So write more consistently and stop worrying."

"You do travel. Remember? Remember how you were just in that same country she's posting pictures of? Yeah. Shush."

"No, no you're not popular, but you do have friends who like you a lot."

"She doesn't have a boyfriend either, so it's not like being her solves that problem." (Okay, so that one is bordering back on mean.)

"WHY ARE YOU STILL SKIMMING HER BLOG!?"

And then I close the tab and move on with my life.

Until I happen upon another blog that gives me cause to think such things.

Such is life. On the plus side, there are blogs I read whose authors I am a wee bit jealous of, but I use them as inspiration. Like this super cute married couple who do super cute married things? Someday I will be married, employ some of their successful marriage techniques, and we'll be nauseatingly adorable ourselves.

My life really is pretty darn great, and it suits me. My clothes, my friends, my adventures, my job - all suitable to me. The things I don't like? I can change, because I am me. And I am okay.

I am Me. In all the world, there is no one else exactly like me. Everything that comes out of me is authentically mine, because I alone chose it – I own everything about me: my body, my feelings, my mouth, my voice, all my actions, whether they be to others or myself.

I own my fantasies, my dreams, my hopes, my fears. I own my triumphs and successes, all my failures and mistakes. Because I own all of me, I can become intimately acquainted with me. By so doing, I can love me and be friendly with all my parts.

I know there are aspects about myself that puzzle me, and other aspects that I do not know – but as long as I am friendly and loving to myself, I can courageously and hopefully look for solutions to the puzzles and ways to find out more about me.

However I look and sound, whatever I say and do, and whatever I think and feel at a given moment in time is authentically me. If later some parts of how I looked, sounded, thought, and felt turn out to be unfitting, I can discard that which is unfitting, keep the rest, and invent something new for that which I discarded.

I can see, hear, feel, think, say, and do. I have the tools to survive, to be close to others, to be productive, and to make sense and order out of the world of people and things outside of me. I own me, and therefore, I can engineer me.

I am me, and I am Okay.

From Self Esteem by Virginia Satir