I have them. Shameful envies that I'd like to pretend away. Sometimes I get tired of hiding them.
I walked the dog around my nice neighbourhood. I am lucky to live here. There's hardly any crime here, I love my neighbours, and people in general take care of their homes. It's good.
And even though I'm one of them, I'm jealous of all these suburbanites.
I'm jealous that they are content here. I'm jealous that they don't look out their windows at night and clench their teeth because they wish for fields and open skies instead of other houses. I assume. Maybe they are wishing for a view of the ocean, or a city skyline, or a golf course. I'm guessing most are content where they are and I wish I could be that.
I'm jealous of clean windows. I'm jealous of people who want to clean their windows. I wish I wanted to clean.
I'm jealous of nice curtains and wonder how much, really, it would cost and would it kill me.
I'm jealous of women whose husbands come home at 6 or 7pm every evening.
I'm jealous of people who have enough money to pay every bill on time.
I'm jealous of those who are organized enough to pay the bills on time and always get their taxes done.
I'm jealous of people who live on the same property as their horses. But at the same time, I am happy for them, and I need to know that it can be done, because there are times when I almost forget that years ago, I was one of those.
I am insanely, unhealthily jealous of Chad Kroeger because he has a recording studio in his barn, and I want that so bad.
I'm jealous of people who never question God and have unshakeable belief in Jesus, because after all these years, I still question everything. I value my questions- I truly believe that it makes me a better person, a better thinker, and yes, a better christian, but damn, it would be a lot quieter in my head without all the questions.
I'm jealous of all the musicians and producers that get to spend 14 hours in a room with my husband.
I'm jealous of people who always sing in tune.
And it occurs to me, as I stomp around the block at the end of the Pug's leash, that jealousy is so easy. It requires almost no thinking. It's all based on assumptions and on what we project onto everyone else, and it's based on covetous desires that we might not have even thought through completely.
Somebody could be jealous of me right now. Because I have the prettiest house on the street. It's true. I've been told. In a crowd of mid-century bungalows, ours stands out.
There may be women who are jealous that I don't have a regular job, that I've been a stay at home mother, and they would have no way of knowing about our overdue bills and constant struggle to get paid, or about that nasty little mental breakdown I worked so hard to cover up.
It would be easy to be jealous of me because my parents love horses too, and are willing to keep mine for me.
Or jealous of me because I have a man who loves me. And tells people that he loves me.
Or jealous that I have a man, regardless of how talented and awesome he is.
Maybe somebody is jealous because I have set foot on a red carpet and partied in the same building with rock stars.
I'll never know because we don't go up to each other and spill our envies. We shouldn't, either. But pretending I don't have any could eat me up and I am not willing to be eaten by anything other than my own imagination.
The nice thing about being brought suddenly and grindingly to your knees by depression is that eventually, no matter how painful, you have to let go of this garbage. All of this mental slime builds up and drowns everything else. You can avoid it for ages but sooner or later you face it. So there. It's all out there, for the world to see. I get jealous of what others have, of what I wish for.
So, I look this stuff in the squinty little eyes and tell it to go away. I have a day to get on with.