Comparison is the thief of joy
(And why INIMITABLE is one of my favourite words in the English language.)
I love my mugs. I love that some are good for coffee and some for tea. That some are for winter and some for spring. That some are so big I can wrap both hands around them and they feel like a lovely, drinkable hot water bottle. That others are dainty and better for sipping than gulping. I love how they remind me of things that make me happy: the colour blue, snow, New Hampshire, wildlife, bicycles, handmade things, cosiness.
I celebrate each mug for its unique properties and purpose. Comparing them would be plain silly. If I wanted them all to be the same I would have bought a set!
Where is this strange, mug-obsessed-metaphor going? Well, it’s about us and artists and writers and humans and how, like these mugs, we’re all differently shaped and coloured, suited for different times and purposes - and we’re also uniquely, unavoidably and wonderfully ourselves. But we forget this. And so we compare ourselves to others - to their style and their output and their success and their fame and their skills and their accolades - and that undermines our essential sense of self, our voice, of what we can contribute to the world in a way that no one else can, quite simply, because no one else is us.
At its worst, comparison makes us want to give up on ourselves and on what we love doing and then we all lose out: you don’t get to express a vital part of yourself and the world is robbed of the gift you have to offer.
My children are so familiar with me launching the phrase at them that the moment I start with, ‘Comparison is -’ they chant back at me, ‘the thief of joy.’ No one is quite sure where the quotation comes from. Some attribute it to Theodore Roosevelt. Anyway, kids compare a lot. Usually over material things or, as they get older, over abilities, appearances, popularity. This invariably takes their eye off the wonder of who they are and of their inimitable lives.
Inimitable. I love that word. It’s possibly my favourite word in the English language. And I think that if we believed it and wrote it on post-its all over our houses and tattooed it on our skin and declared, often, ‘I am inimitable and you are inimitable and isn’t that a wonderful thing?’ then the world would be a more beautiful and a happier and a kinder place.
in·im·i·ta·ble
/iˈnimədəb(ə)l/
adjective
So good or unusual as to be impossible to copy; unique.
I wonder what it is that makes us so readily compare ourselves to others. Whether it serves a kind of evolutionary process. Of course, some comparisons can be beneficial: a kind of benchmark, a source of learning, a way of looking at those we admire, those who are brilliant at what they do, and using that to inspire us, to up our game.
But it’s that deep, undermining comparison that leaves us deflated and defeated and unmotivated - and wobbly - that we need to avoid, especially as artists. We all know that social media has turned comparison into a highly addictive, pathological form of self-sabotage. We know it’s ridiculous. We still do it. And it hurts us. I once heard someone say something brilliant in relation to this whole situation:
“The tip of the neighbour’s iceberg often looks very nice.”
Their point was that what we see of the lives of others, whether on social media or in real life, is always, always, a tiny, tiny tip of the iceberg. We have no idea of the bigger picture. The heartbreaks and failures and rejections and struggles and unhappiness and the cost of any success - and the hidden pile of dirty dishes just to the left of the picture perfect kitchen. And so our comparison is always based on unreliable and incomplete information.
A slightly less quirky example than mugs, comes from an experience I had at yoga. I’ve been committing to a regular practice since January as part of my intention to strengthen myself this year. One of the things I love about yoga, is that it’s profoundly uncompetitive, that it’s all about our own journey. There’s a sacred respect for how we, in our bodies, in our flesh and bones and muscles and sinews, and in our spirits, are like fingerprints: utterly unique. It follows that comparison is futile. But of course, that doesn’t stop us.
My yoga studio is deeply inclusive: kind and welcoming to all ages, body types, backgrounds, abilities. But one evening, I found myself in front of a really good yogi. She was pretty, in that blonde, smooth skinned way. She had the right yoga clothes and clearly worked out regularly: the words sculpted and toned came to mind.
I like balance poses, I enjoy them and look forward to them. They help make me feel calm and grounded and focused. But then I had to do a tree pose in front of my talented, toned, well turned out, fellow yogi who was holding her pose perfectly. I immediately questioned myself: my appearance, my ability, my right to be there and to do this at all (comparison often leads to catastrophising). And I couldn’t hold it. I wibbled and wobbled and ended up adapting a pose I’d mastered many times before into a less challenging version.
When I got home, I pulled down the blinds, took my yoga mat out in my bedroom and tried the pose again and did it first time. I stood strong there, strong as an oak tree, not a wibble or a wobble in sight.
This is a lesson I need to relearn over and over and over again. To look inwards rather than outwards, to remind myself of my strength, my unique voice and capabilities, and that comparison, when not used wisely, will rob us of joy and much more besides.
Writing Prompt
Words and poetry are great writing prompts, but images can be even more immediate. Early in my teaching career, I attended a creative writing workshop at the National Gallery in London where they taught us how to use paintings to inspire writing in our students. It was a wonderful day. We all know how pictures have inspired great novels from The Girl with the Pearl Earring to The Goldfinch. I often browse the art and photography section in my local bookstore and library for ideas.
The image below is about decision making, about crossroads, about the what ifs of life, about taking one path rather than an other.
Look at the picture and take a few seconds to think about what it brings up in you:
Can you remember a time when you had to choose one path over another?
What did it feel like to make that decision?
Did that one decision, taking that one path, lead to another that would never have opened up had it not been for that initial choice?
Do you regret the decision you made or do you feel grateful or relieved that you took that path?
Did you get lost - literally or metaphorically - or did you find home?
Or perhaps you’re at a crossroads right now - write about that.
Write for ten minutes, no stopping and no looking back. You can write non-fiction or fiction, it can be personal or about someone else, and you can write in any genre: poetry, prose, dialogue, stream of consciousness. Trust what comes up.
Adapting the writing prompt:
Is your character at a crossroads in their life? Characters invariably are, at least once, often more than once, in any good story. Making hard decisions and moving forwards is the stuff of fiction. Write a scene about a moment of decision making or a bit of interior monologue about the decision making, from the point of view of your character.
Recommendation:
This is a beautiful, read-in-one-sitting bound version of the commencement address, What Now? given by the inimitable Ann Patchett to her alma mater, Sarah Lawrence College. Dovetailing nicely with this week’s writing prompt, it’s all about the what ifs and the crossroads of life. And it’s also a reminder that dare we compare ourselves to this wildly successful human and writer, there’s a bigger picture. There’s more under the tip of that iceberg. Like, for example, that when she shared her first draft of her commencement address with an old, trusted teacher, he told her it was rubbish and she had to start again!
Quotation to chew over this week
“…writing a novel and living a life are very much the same thing. The secret is finding the balance between going out to get what you want and being open to the thing that actually winds up coming your way. What now is not just a panic-stricken question tossed out into the dark unknown. What now can also be our joy. It is a declaration of possibility, of promise, of chance. It acknowledges that our future is open, that we may well do more than anyone expected of us, that at every point in our development we are still striving. There’s a time in our lives when we crave all the answers. It seems terrifying not to know what’s coming next. But there is another time, a better time, when we see our lives as a series of choices, and What Now represents our excitement and our future, the very vitality of life. It’s up to you to choose a life that keeps expanding. It takes discipline to remain curious; it takes work to be open to the world - but oh my friends, what noble and glorious work it is.’
Ann Patchett, What Now, p77-78
Thank you so much for reading along, it really means the world to share this space with you.
Would you do something for me? In the comments below, would you write a word or a phrase that comes to mind when you read my newsletters? Something that somehow captures what it makes you feel as you’re writing? I’d love to know how my words are landing with you.
With love, and keeping going, whatever crossroads you’re facing today or will face tomorrow.
Virginia 🤍
Virginia Macgregor is the author of five novels for adults and two for young adults. She has an MFA in Creative Writing with a specialisation in the teaching of writing. She lives with her husband, her three children, her four cats and a home full of books and coffee mugs, in New Hampshire.
Your newsletter is like dessert. It shows up and I save it in my inbox for an hour, or a day or two depending on what kind of deadlines I have on my desk. I keep it as a reward and often I'm reading it at the end of the day or week when I am tired and looking for comfort, hope, and reassurance that I can continue to trust in myself-trust is my word for 2024. Without fail, I always feel these emotions once I've read your newsletter. Thank you for sharing so much with us. Thank you, dear Virginia, for being your inimitable self. Kx
Reading your posts, I feel like I’m having a cozy tea party with a long-time friend and we just have the best chats together. Thanks, Virginia!