JEALOUSY

Jealousy, I’ve often heard, is a normal human emotion.
When I hear that, I think, “Maybe your jealousy—not
mine.”
My jealously roars in the head, tightens the chest,
massages my stomach lining with a cold fist as it searches
out the best grip. I have long regarded jealousy as my
greatest weakness. Only recently have I seen it for the
tough-love friend that it is.
Jealousy is a map. Each of our jealousy maps differs.
Each of us will probably be surprised by some of the things
we discover on our own. I, for example, have never been
eaten alive with resentment over the success of women
novelists. But I took an unhealthy interest in the fortunes
and misfortunes of women playwrights. I was their harshest
critic, until I wrote my first play.
With that action, my jealousy vanished, replaced by a
feeling of camaraderie. My jealousy had actually been a
mask for my fear of doing something I really wanted to do
but was not yet brave enough to take action toward.
Jealousy is always a mask for fear: fear that we aren’t able
to get what we want; frustration that somebody else seems to
be getting what is rightfully ours even if we are too
frightened to reach for it. At its root, jealousy is a stingy
emotion. It doesn’t allow for the abundance and multiplicity
of the universe. Jealousy tells us there is room for only one