how to envy well

Photo by Alina Perekatenkova on Unsplash

I’ve been thinking about envy and how often it finds its way into my mind, taunts me with fear and feelings of insignificance. Like a shadow growing in a starless night, or an animal lurking outside the window, envy grabs hold, grows teeth, overpowers me like prey without offering mercy.

I’ve never really considered myself a jealous person. But I guess if I look hard enough, I can see that the feeling is sometimes there, creeping in, especially with writing and creativity. Celebration arises, too, and feelings of pride when witnessing others’ work. But I think it’s fair to say everyone hopes and equally fears that there may not be enough room at the table.

When the feeling arises, its grip is strong and stubborn. I feel it in my bones, the ache of longing for what others have that I don’t. For what I lack:

Names printed on covers in the bookstore. Babies in the wombs, babies running around the hallways. Houses on quiet streets to grow old in. Peace. Contentment.

Envy is not so much a need to have more but a realization that there are gaps of fulfillment within me and this life I’ve created. A light is shone into the holes I haven’t yet figured out how to fill.

Maybe it’s foolish; maybe the secret to peace is being grateful for what you already have. But perhaps it’s also true that longing keeps us alive and moving. It keeps us hungry. We can appreciate all that we are while also desiring fulfilled dreams.

Envy does have a way of consuming you though, when not careful. If you focus too narrowly on the longing, on the lack, on what may come more easily to others, you risk disappearing yourself.

I envy because when I see another person's success and joy, it highlights what I feel are the shadows in me. I envy their lightness, how they can move through the world without analyzing every thought and moment. I envy the ease. And I wish it for myself.

The older I become, the less I experience this feeling, perhaps because my life has somehow become quieter, the glitter and fame far less appealing than when I was young, when the world felt small enough to hold in my palm. To be a writer, a woman, and a person navigating this world, it’s a gift, no matter how it looks or who else sees it. I think about that saying—if a tree falls in the woods when no one is around—writing is like that. Living too. They happen even if no one is watching.

But then there it is again. The envy. And only with years of navigating it have I learned that, like all things, envy can be a tool if you allow for it. Envy can point and teach and invite us to reframe our thoughts and emotions. It can be an invitation. Is that strange? Maybe. Or maybe it’s freedom.

I have this idea that perhaps the secret isn’t to rid my life of envy but to choose what and how I envy instead. What would it mean to envy the good, the beautiful, the dreams I wish for my family and self? Would this envy then allow me to focus on creating a more fulfilling and present life?

I’m starting by envying the very best versions of myself. The wandering woman in an unknown city, fresh off the plane and exhausted but exhilarated by new languages and colorful streets in a stranger’s land. She finds her way to quiet cafes; she eats for pleasure and nourishment, never worrying about how her body may change. She has wine with lunch, dessert for dinner. She sees her reflection in the window glass and smiles at the person staring back.

I envy the earth and the sun, the tiny bird dancing high up in the tree, my niece on the playground serving imaginary tacos from a plastic window, her knees stained by play.

And I envy the older woman I hope I will someday become; she knows hours are never wasted sitting on the sand and staring at the sea. She gives herself over to writing and stories and long conversations, to the wind itself.

Mostly, I envy love, both felt and witnessed in smile lines and palms brushing, tangled limbs and warm breaths, friendships and family dinners, and love shared by strangers. May it move me to be loose with my tongue regarding my love. May it teach me never to guard my heart when receiving it.

If I’m going to envy, I want to envy well. I wish to envy all the versions of me I haven’t met yet, how I will love her, how she will change me, how she will look back to this moment, on this writing, and whisper a million times over: thank you, thank you, thank you.

*This post was originally published in 2023

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Read: I stayed up late last night and finished Here After. I will be thinking about this book forever and recommending it to everyone I know. If you read one book this year, please make it this one.

Listen: This new song from Chance Peña will be on repeat all weekend: