Must Be Nice
Several years ago, I recognized within myself deep jealousy
toward a friend. I picked up on it when I realized my
constant refrain about her life was, “Must be nice.” When
she told me about her schedule, or her family, or her day, I
felt a snarky, itchy feeling bubble up inside of me. Must be
nice.
This is the thing: her life seemed lighter than mine,
easier. More free, more crafted to reflect her own
preferences and passions. Mine had gotten away from me.
In my blind need to be seen as hyper-capable, ultra-
dependable, that girl who can handle anything, I’d built a
life I could no longer handle. My to-do list drove me like an
unkind taskmaster.
And in my most ground-down moments, I looked over
at my friend’s life and I saw that she was . . . playing.
Sheesh. Connecting. Please. Resting. Come on. Asking for
help. What a baby.
That’s how it starts, at least for me. With disdain. A lot of
“sheesh”-ing. Because if I can discount her, then I don’t
have to grapple with my own feelings about her life
compared to mine. But I’ve been down this road enough to
know how well it can instruct me if I let it. And so I cracked