Comparisons Are Like Roadkill

Even though you know better, don’t you occasionally fall into the self-esteem-killing trap of comparing yourself to others? I know I do, especially since I just turned 50 – that Tweenior milestone when I should be nearing the peak of my life, but in reality, not so much.

Like roadkill, comparisons draw you in, forcing you to stare even though you know you won’t like what you see. You try to avert your eyes, yet you can’t not look at that dead squirrel squished in the left turn lane. Which is exactly how I felt at 50, when I looked around to see how everyone else was faring (No! Look away!) and felt like I was choking on their dust as they raced ahead of me. Damn, some days I can’t even see the finish line. Why did I look?

Short answer – I’m an idiot.

Most days, I’m happy with my life. My days overflow with good health, happy marriage, great kids, yada, yada, yada. But every now and then, those days of feeling “less than” creep up on me like a thong gone wrong.

So how do I compare to thee on those days when I feel like I am the roadkill? Let me count the ways.

1. Career. Someone I knew from college worked as a DEA agent who helped bring down a Mexican drug cartel. (True story.) I taught my boys cursive writing. As worthwhile as that might be (or at least, used to be, prior to touchscreens & keyboarding), I feel underwhelmed by my professional accomplishments in the last decade or so. I know I can’t measure motherhood by the same standards, and I did willingly park my full-time writing career to be a stay-at-home mom and then homeschool my two boys for almost 10 years. But still. I yearn for a pat on the back once in a while, or at least an occasional “you didn’t suck today” to make me feel like I’m moving forward in life. I mean, I earned a master’s degree so I could go out in the world and do great things. And I did . . . at least for the first 10-15 years. I reveled in my career success filled with accolades, awards, steady paychecks, professional association memberships, and business trips padded with lovely per diems. But I’d like to think all those years I spent paying off Sallie Mae would yield bigger results than being dubbed the official cat-vomit-cleaner of the family (because apparently, I’m just that good). Wait, I did serve on the PTA board; does that count as a promotion?
2. Finances. I know so many people who’ve got the beautifully decorated and landscaped 4,000-square-foot home, the luxury cars, the exotic vacations, the college funds for all four kids, and the fully funded I-can-retire-when-I’m-60 bank accounts, and I’m really hoping they’re all in debt up to their botoxed foreheads. Just kiddin’ (kinda). I really, really miss those dual-income days when I could pretty much buy and do most things I wanted (hello, highlights and massages). Right now, my house is sporting four active plumbing and roof leaks, weeds and bare patches dot my front lawn, and I cruise consignment stores to spruce up my wardrobe. We lead a perfectly normal, struggling middle class life (hello, BOGOs and coupons). We’re not poor, but we ain’t rich either, sandwiched somewhere between trailer park and Park Avenue.
3. Travel: A friend of mine works as a flight attendant and jets off to Amsterdam, London and cool cities all over the U.S. Another friend just took her four kids backpacking across Europe for three weeks. I feel well-travelled when I score a trip to Trader Joe’s in the next county. Our shoestring travel budget keeps us pretty close to home for most vacations, although I still dream about the girls’ spa weekend, the family cruise and the writer’s retreat that I will someday go on. (Just waiting for the right Groupon deal to hit.) Fortunately, I live in the Sunshine State, so I’ve got plenty of sunny staycations to fill the void until then. And, my family will be trekking back to New Jersey next year to visit relatives and friends, so I’ve got that pot of gold just waiting for me at the end of the I-95 rainbow.
4. Beauty & Fitness: I should really just avoid Facebook on the days when I’m looking and feeling less than stellar. I don’t want to read about a friend’s latest triathlon when I’m sore from weeding the garden yesterday. I don’t want to see photos of sun-tanned high school classmates in their bikinis when I’m praying my tankini top covers my lily-white, doughy belly and my matching boy shorts hides my ever-expanding hips and thighs. I don’t want to see a close-up selfie of my friend’s still-flawless complexion when I’m searching YouTube for a tutorial on masking under-eye bags. These FB posts make me feel like I’m standing next to Michelle Pfeiffer and wondering if I’m just as pretty. Um, no. Yes, I’m that shallow sometimes.

Don’t get me wrong. I feel very blessed in so many areas of my life most days. But those moments of doubt occasionally crop up when comparisons just pummel my positivity and leave me feeling “less than.”

Fortunately, a great glass of red zin helps me get over it. 😉