Scotty and I are working on Part 4 of "A Love Story". Stay tuned!
I'm not like her. I avoid Burpees. I'm only gonna do them if I have to. It's an accomplishment that I pull myself out of bed and show up to work out at all. And who needs another challenge in her life? Not me.
While she is knocking out the pull ups, I am struggling to reach the stupid bar. But I just smile because I'm so happy for her. I tell myself that I am so blessed to be inspired by her freakish dedication to Burpees. She clearly outshines me in this area and I am encouraged to continue because she is so awesome! No feelings of inadequacy here.
I have another friend (shocking, I know!) whose home is immaculate. It's like walking into a hotel. And she always looks nice. Cute hair. Cute shoes. Cute purse. Therefore her life must be perfect. I hate her.
There's that one writer and that one runner and the witty one who makes everyone laugh - on purpose. Are you noticing a trend yet? There's the girl who is seeing her prayers answered left and right, which must mean I am not following the right formula. The smart one is getting her Masters degree; the "spurt-tual" one knows the Greek meaning of every Bible verse and that momma friend finds a life lesson to teach her children in getting a hair cut. A hair cut guys!
I have awesome friends who clearly only keep me around because they feel sorry for me on account of my glaring lack of adequacy. They are all that and therefore I am messy, lazy, frumpy, and weak. So I quit. I'm just not going to pray or write or run anymore. I just can't. I can't be like them and so I am useless and I'd just rather not. Because I hate feeling inadequate and making people laugh at me - not on purpose.
Comparison is like an, itchy, red, oozing skin rash. It oozes into other areas of my life; my family, my job, our income, my church, blah, blah, blah. Gross, huh. I know. It is an uncomfortable, ugly, repulsive disease and it's contagious. Before I know it I'm wondering why my husband doesn't write me songs or cook gourmet meals. He has never shown up on the door step (That's your cue, Etta) ...
...looking hot in an expensive suit, feet crossed, slightly leaning against the wall with a rose in one hand, a tiny box with something shiny and expensive in his pocket, sly smile on his face, waiting to whisk me away for a walk in the rain where he will declare his love for me. And have you seen those marriage proposal videos on YouTube?? O. Em. Gee!
Who's to say that I see the whole story? Since when did I receive the right to insert myself into someone else's story? And if I do so, who's going to write mine? I will never be like you and you can't be like me. Disappointing, I know. My crazy Burpee friend? She doesn't enjoy running. How is she even my friend? We all know running is the superior form of exercise. And my friend with the beautiful home? She's in a different season than I am. Her children are grown. There are a million different reasons and ways that I will never be like you, no matter how much I would like to be. We all have different experiences and perspectives and schedules and habits and situations. It is absurd to try to fit all of that stuff into a mold that will make us be like somebody else. What an exhausting an unnecessary way to live life!
Of course knowing all of this does not mean that I will never ever ever compare myself to someone again and maybe I will have to read what I've written here again, to remind myself.
So here's to letting others inspire you, without comparing who and where you are with who and where they are.
And I was just kidding. I don't hate my friend with the perfect life.