Maybe that Green-Eyed Monster Just Needs a Hug
What if we stopped fighting jealousy?
A rejection from a literary agent landed in my inbox yesterday. I mostly stopped querying this project months ago, so it took a few seconds for this most recent message to even register. Once it did, it had little impact on the rest of my day. This was a notable change, as earlier this year the constant cycle of hope and rejection had knocked me down pretty hard.
Nothing will send you to a not so great place faster than watching other people announce book deals while you’re nervously reading emails through one squinted eye hoping that maybe, just maybe, this agent wants to read more. Only to find that once again— it’s just not a fit.
My lens for all this is through the writing/publishing world, but any sort of creative or entrepreneurial practice involves rejection. You pitch a business idea for funding and are told no, that Kickstarter for the product you poured your soul into doesn’t fund, you reach out to galleries about showing your art and they aren’t interested, nothing you put on Etsy sells.
In all these situations there will also always be someone more successful than you. These might even be people you know. Possibly even good friends of yours. Now suddenly, in addition to being neck deep in a pool of rejection you’re also jealous of your friend’s success— which means you are not only the WORST writer/entrepreneur/artist/craftsperson/ ever, but also the WORST friend ever. A cunning little weasel of a thought pattern that does wonders for your already bruised mental health.
Like so many things in life, I wonder if it’s the labeling that is the problem here. Jealousy has this hugely negative context. It’s the ugly green-eyed monster, the underlying wound that makes many a fictional villain villainous. It’s cousin, covet, is a deadly sin.
But if we step back and really think about what’s happening here— feeling sad about your success coming slower than others around you— this seems really normal. If our happiness for other humans is dependent on our own happiness, well then, this would seem to undermine our capacity for kindness. Which just doesn’t seem quite right and begs the question, can you be genuinely happy for someone else, while feeling sad for yourself?
I think you can. The trick seems to be allowing for the existence of both/and; rejecting the faulty thought pattern that our disappointment has to discolor our joy for others. What if we are both jealous of and proud of our friend’s success? Sure, it’s more complicated than being just proud of a friend or just consumed by jealousy, but I do truly believe in our capacity to hold both as true and valid feelings.
Now I'm not saying we should all go around offering congratulatory messages like: I’m so happy for you. I’m super sad for me, too. But congratulations on your success! The acknowledgement of this both/and dichotomy is likely best between you and your journal, or you and your therapist, or you and another trusted friend. The important thing is to acknowledge it. Allow it. Hold space for it. And then truly feel both.
Perhaps if we stop labeling our feelings as monsters we’ll realize there is space for them all.
Things of Beauty
Just a few things that felt particularly soul-nourishing recently (or maybe just made me smile).
This article in Forbes does a great job of explaining what mindfulness is and what it isn’t. It also ties in really nicely with the idea of feeling all feelings.
This post from Emily McDowell, about the pressure to be productive amidst the backdrop of a global pandemic.
The end of the year “best of” music lists are rolling out and I forgot how much I loved Colors by the Black Pumas earlier this year.
And speaking of colors— most of the trees where I live have long lost their fall leaves, but I found myself walking under this one holdout on a particularly sunny day last week:
Would love to hear both what’s bringing you joy and making you feel not as joyful these days. Here’s to both/and-ing all our feelings with grace. Merry everything this holiday season!
Be well,
Mary-Chris