The Envy Ogre

I've said before that now and again I'm visited by the Envy Ogre, a huge and voracious beast who does his best to make sure that I feel like an utter failure in every area of my life, but particularly in my career because I have achieved neither fame nor wealth.

He visited again today when I heard about a blogger acquaintance getting the largest offer for her new book that this particular publishing house has ever made. Yes, you heard that right.  The largest offer the house has ever made.

The EO (Envy Ogre) stomped in the door of my mind and told me that I was never going to be in that position and that I had utterly squandered and wasted any talent I might have had because if I hadn't wasted and squandered my talent I would be the one getting the largest offer ever for my book.

As I was cringing under his attack, I happened upon an article about why being "average" is good enough. In it, the author said:

A life of cumulative ‘average’ acts and successes doing what you love can culminate in an exceptional life.

Think of the backing singer who never makes it big time as a solo artist but spends their life doing something they love, travelling the world and meeting the ‘stars’.
Think of the web designer who creates websites for non-profits without ever getting major design credit but is indirectly responsible for helping process millions of dollars for charity.
Think of the writer who writes a column for the local paper which connects, entertains, directs and informs their local community but never wins a Pulitzer.
The next time you’re reading around the blogosphere lamenting why your blog doesn’t have several thousand subscribers, or you’re wondering how to fill your portfolio with the likes of Nike or Apple, or pondering why you haven’t managed to write a New York Times bestseller, remember this…
You don’t always have to be the best, the most high profile or the most well-connected freelancer to be a success; being average can be more than enough. It can even be exceptional.

 You can read the rest of the article HERE. 

Something for me...and the Envy Ogre...to think about on this chilly March day.

Reaching for Success

I've had to battle surges of envy this year with several of my friends publishing books that are receiving national accolades and publicity. While I'm happy for them, their success makes me feel, well, unsuccessful.

So I've been asking myself what does being successful mean?

Reaching a certain income level?

Having a happy family?

Being recognized for my work and abilities?

What would it take to make me feel like a truly successful writer?

I’ve met many authors who say that if they could just get their name in print, they’d feel successful. Many of them do get their books published and when I talk to them, they often admit that they still don’t feel like a “successful author.”

I think that’s because our definition of success changes as we reach each new level in our lives. What we thought would make us feel like a success five or ten years ago may not make us feel successful today.

That’s why I decided to take a little time to think about what true success is and what it means. 

1)      To be successful means that I have done my best. If I have done all I can, expressed the truth as clearly as I am able and honored God by giving whatever I am working on my all, then I  can see what I've done as being successful. I'm not asked to measure by the world’s standards, but by God’s standards…and doing my best to use the talent God has given me is the beginning of success.

2)      To be successful means that I have exercised my creative talent. We are made in the image and likeness of a creative God. When we are creating, be it a painting, a garden or educating children, we are being like our God…which is what we are called to do in all things.

3)      To be successful means that I have done my part to bring about knowledge, insight, and love to further the Kingdom in earth.  

I'm not sure that I can say I've actually done these things, but this year I am going to make a more concerted effort to try, because although it's terribly tempting, when I measure my success only in economic terms, I fall short of what our God has in mind for me. 

I remind myself that St. Francis de Sales’ famous book, “Invitation to the Devout Life” was written for a small, private audience and yet it continues to inspire thousands every year. The letters of the Little Flower were written only because her superior told her to and with no expectation that anyone outside the convent would ever read them. Yet those same letters were instrumental in having St. Therese of Lisieux named a Doctor of the Church and in creating a new way of looking at God’s love and mercy.

...but I still wouldn't mind having a best seller!

Falling into Fall

I can tell by the light. 

I'm not quite sure how to describe it, but there is luminous quality to the light of autumn as it slants across the deck that tells me summer is over and fall has begun.  

It often happens, as would be logical, around the fall equinox, when day and night are nearly equal. Although today is the actual date of the equinox, the change happened about last Wednesday. I looked out my kitchen window and thought, "Summer is over." And it was.

The suddenness with which the fall shift happens always takes me by surprise.  I wake up one day it's summer. I wake up the next and it's not.  The temperature may still be warm, the grey rains of winter haven't set it, but there it is...a slant of light that heralds the change of season.

Fall used to be my favorite time of year.  The crispness of the air, the rich colors, pumpkins and spice, not to mention scarves and boots. Now, not so much. I feel a certain melancholy set in, as I wonder if I can wear my sandals a few more days before I need to shift to sox and closed toed shoes.

Perhaps it is because with each year I grow more acutely aware of the passage of time and how (relatively) little lies ahead compared with that which lies behind.  At the back of my mind is the possibility that this could be my last fall, even though, if I were to live anywhere close to my mother's age, I still have decades ahead of me. (Although, of course none of us know how much time we have, even when we are 20 or 30.)

More likely it is because I feel like I haven't really accomplished the things I thought I would when I was 20 and peering into the future.  (Fame and fortune seem to have eluded me!) I catch myself looking back with regrets that knot my stomach. I hear myself saying, "If only...." And when I'm in that frame of mind, I feel the tendrils of envy snake out and wrap themselves around my heart.

I envy those with enough money never to have to worry for the rest of their lives. I envy those with best-selling books and highly read blogs and six figure advances. I envy those with shining happy lives, seemingly unmarred by the grim armies of grief, depression, sorrow and regret. I envy those who get to do and have and be all the things I want to do and have and be.

And with each of these thoughts, the tendrils squeeze more tightly.

When I get into this autumnal state of mind (which is not to be confused with a New York state of mind), it's difficult to extract myself, to sever the tendrils.  In fact, I know of only one way to do it...confession.

Being Catholic, I can (and do) avail myself of the formal rite of Confession, but I also know that I must confess with a small "c."  I must admit to myself that envy and regret are coiled around my heart. I have to stop looking back, stop berating myself for all the wrong choices, misguided steps, and lapses in judgment.  I have to banish the "should have's" because, even if I "should have" the past is the past.

I have to stop steering the barque of my life by the wake and return to the helm.  Because winter is coming and I can't afford to waste a day of the fall.

My friends all drive Porches, I must make amends

I've been feeling rather envious and jealous lately.  Envious of what I see as much better and happier lives that everyone, everyone I say, has but me.  

It seems I'm not alone.  Joanne K. McPortland and the Crescat both express similar thoughts on their blogs today.

 I particularly appreciate Joanne's take:

I’m not coveting wordly goods, at least not more than usually. I can whip together a pretty good self-pity party on occasion, especially when friends are talking about their new vacation homes and their retirement adventures, but most of the time I have the ability to count my innumerable blessings. No, I will never be able to retire, or buy a new home (first or second), or help my kids and spoil my grandson the way every parent and grandparent longs to, but there’s nothing to blame for that but my own choices and their consequences. And all told, I am enviable in the gifts that God and life and people I love have showered on me.

Yep, I know the feeling of smiling through the talk of the new vacation home and month in France and the 10K monthly retirement income that is 100% secure and not being able to spoil the kids or retire or or or....And I know, like Joanna, that it's the result of the choices I've made and their consequences.

Damn choices.  Damn consequences.  Damn feeling jealous.


The one thing that neither Joanna nor the Crecat talked about, however, is the feeling of panic that goes along with my envy.  The sense that things might get worse than they are right now and right now they aren't really all that wonderful. It's a sense that perhaps God is going to let me down; that God won't answer my prayers; that not only won't I ever get the vacation cruise and retirement income and spoiled family, but that I might not even get tomorrow's dinner.

Like Joanne, I know that the best and perhaps only way out of the envy trap is to count blessings, but some days, like today, I just don't feel like counting blessings.  I don't even feel like looking for blessings.  I just want what I want and I want it now.

I could try to put some sanctimonious spin on this, but I think I'll just leave it by saying that for whatever reason it made me feel better that I'm not the only one suffering from a bout of jealousy or envy today.

I guess misery really does love company.