Comparison is the Thief of Joy

Art print available here: http://society6.com/denilchanComparison is the Thief of Joy

A spoken-word presentation

to a group of people

who were in a big room

listening to me prattle on.

It started when I began

by reading

this poem:

"To my favorite 17 year old high school girl

By Billy Collins

Do you realize that if you had started

building the Parthenon on the day you were born

you would be all done in only two more years?

Of course, you would have needed lots of help,

so never mind, you’re fine just as you are.

You are loved for simply being yourself.

But did you know at your age Judy Garland

was pulling down $150,000 a picture,

Joan of Arc was leading the French army to victory,

and Blaise Pascal had cleaned up his room?

No, wait, I mean he had invented the calculator.

Of course, there will be time for all that later in your life

after you come out of your room

and begin to blossom, at least pick up all your socks.

For some reason, I keep remembering that Lady Jane Grey

was Queen of England when she was only fifteen

but then she was beheaded, so never mind her as a role model.

A few centuries later, when he was your age,

Franz Schubert was doing the dishes for his family,

but that did not keep him from composing two symphonies,

four operas, and two complete Masses, as a youngster.

But of course that was in Austria at the height

of romantic lyricism, not here in the suburbs of Cleveland.

Frankly, who cares if Annie Oakley was a crack shot at 15

or if Maria Callas (call us) debuted as Tosca at 17?

We think you are special by just being you,

playing with your food and staring into space.

By the way, I lied about Schubert doing the dishes,

but that doesn’t mean he never helped out around the house."

One of my favorite musicians is a woman named Karin Bergquist. 

She and her husband are musicians, poets, artists. 

When I go to see her, 

when I sit in the seat of a darkened theatre,

everyone around me disappears, and

my imagination goes into overdrive

And I leave the darkened theatre, and step out into the 

dreamy night

and I get to thinking;

what would have happened if I would have chosen that life,

Instead of that of wife, mother, writer, librarian?

I try it on in my head, like Walter Mitty, 

Imagine getting a tattoo just like hers,

wearing clothes like hers,

holding a microphone like she does, 

and captivating an audience.

When I try it on in my head, I can see myself being a rock star,

And the next thing I know, 

I'm singing in the car, 

belting it out--

"I’m on a Roll, oh, I’m on a roll, oh-oh-oh"--

I sing loudly

and with feeling

Just knowing someone will notice, 

and that someone will think,

“Wow! What an amazing singer she is!”

Usually, though, the car behind me

just honks 

to let me know the light is green,

and so I drive. 

But when I leave my daydream (though I rarely stop singing),

I still remember Karin's tattoo

The one on her left arm

that says "comparison is the thief of joy."

Comparison is the thief of joy. 

Now I’m not talking here about mentoring, 

which is admiring someone

allowing someone--welcoming someone-- to help you find your own best path, 

Or about being inspired, which is seeing the good in someone 

And wanting to bring out your good in you, too.

I’m talking about doing to ourselves what we do when we shop for appliances 

On the Best Buy site-- 

Putting two refrigerators or stoves or blue ray players in your shopping cart 

And analyzing them

Side by side

Scrutinizing and making mental notes

To see which one has better features

Which one is sexier

Which one works harder

Which one is prettier.

Comparison is something I’ve struggled with

for most of my life. 

At least the part since after I was born

into this house of skin. 

As a student, I would be jealous of the kids who, 

At the end of the year, 

Were awarded perfect attendance,

or were in the most clubs,

or were voted "most likely to."

As a daughter--not successful enough, not doting enough, not worthy enough.

As a wife--that other women were prettier,

Smarter

Skinnier

Funnier

Taller--definitely, always taller

Kept cleaner laundry rooms

Made better food

As a writer, 

that another one was published, 

Or landed an agent,

or made the front page of the paper,

Or just had the most amazing way with words. 

Just last night, I was reading a collection

of short stories by a woman around my age

who is well-known for writing short stories,

which is what I do, too.

Instead of celebrating her success with her, 

I grew envious.

I decided to check out her "credentials." 

She has a wikipedia page.

I don't have a wikipedia page.

She has a master's degree. 

I don't have a master's degree. 

She has an MFA.

I don't have an MFA.

She has had fellowships (impressive ones)

Has won awards (lots of them)

and I started to hate her

(this woman I don't even know)

Instead of learn from her

And enjoy her work

And draw inspiration from her success.

Comparison is the thief of joy

for a parent. 

The parent thing is a tough one. 

I still struggle with it, like,

every day. 

When my kids were born, I wanted them to be the best. 

(I KNEW they would be the best)

Not just for them, but for me. 

To show what a perfect parent I could be.

That I could be the poster child

of perfect parenting. 

That I could create and produce

a Judy Garland

or Joan of Arc

or Franz Schubert. 

Or at least the star soccer player

on their high school soccer team.  

It wasn’t until I was knee-deep

in parenting 

that a verse knocked me in the head

And told me to stop it with the comparison thing.

Proverbs 22:6

Amplified Bible (AMP)

6 Train up a child

in the way that child should go 

[and in keeping with her or his individual gift or bent],

and when the child is old 

she or he will not depart from it.

(Gender adjustments mine)

Have you heard it? 

But have you REALLY heard it?

I love the Amplified version

because of how it lays it all out.

Train up a child in the way THAT CHILD should go.

Not in the way that other child over there should go.

Not in the way Franz Shubert or Judy Garland or Joan of Arc went. 

But to guide them according to THEIR individual bent and gift. 

Which meant they each of my children had one...

An individual bent and gift, that is.

Which meant I had--have--one. 

Which means, of course, that you have one, too. 

Not to flaunt,

Or to put out there for comparison, 

But to be the best "you" you can be,

That you’ve been called to be.

Whether it’s a hair stylist, 

Or a mom,

Or a dad,

Or a plumber,

Or an electrician,

Or a photographer,

Or a trash collector,

Or a concert pianist, 

Or a carpenter, 

Or a grocer,

Or an artist,

Or a teacher,

Or a CPA,

Or Franz Schubert.

Comparison is the thief of joy

Comparison is probably what’s causing your misery

Your depression

Your relationship problems

Your fear

Your anger

But joy!

Joy makes you strong!

Joy makes you beautiful!

Joy makes you beam and glow and shine

all over!

So rejoice. 

Rejoice when you fail

Rejoice for the opportunity to attempt something new.

Rejoice when you lose something

for the opening it creates,

the freedom it affords.

Rejoice when someone succeeds,

whether friend

Or what you perceive

as enemy. 

Rejoice with them. 

Rejoice as if it’s your own accomplishment

Your own celebration.

Because, while you might not know it now, 

both comparison and joy eventually 

etch lines into your face--

the first with downward creases at mouth-corners

and furrows between brows, 

the second with bright rays at the eyes’ edges.

And because while comparison 

is the thief of joy,

the destructive, 

relentless,

never-sated

ever ravenous 

thief of joy,

Joy 

True joy,

is the suffocating death

of comparison.

Art print above by Denilchan available here. 

Copyright 2013 by Denice Rovira Hazlett

Please ask for permission before reprinting in any form.