We were heading to one of our weekend adventures recently, when we realized that it was Ethan and Melissa's anniversary. In the four years that they have been married, they have given the world two very beautiful girls that are the light of all our lives. Micki then recited all she had managed to accomplish in the same period. Almost everyone knows that Micki is an incredibly accomplished person. We were driving at the time, or my head might have spun to listen as she listed everything she’s managed to do—with great aplomb—in just four short years.
She published the lion's share of her 5 book series, won several domestic and international awards for those books, got her masters degree, taught for three years (middle school!) She also took on her current role as director of marketing for our community college and just signed a contract to redo her children's chapter book series called Thurston T. Turtle Moves to Hubbleville.
During the same four years—and here's the point of this essay—I really haven't done much at all. I haven't been coasting, or anything, but my list of goals met is pretty sparse. It’s positively dismal compared to Micki’s stellar list. It made me a little self-conscious. Then, I started listing the accomplishments of our kids in that same four years and I rapidly found myself completely outpaced in the accomplishment tournament.
All three lads are well-educated, brilliant, talented, and hilariously funny. They are successful at their respective jobs, and have slowly but doggedly climbed their corporate ladders. Their significant others (one wife, one fiancé and one serious girlfriend) are equally self-possessed, brilliant and hardworking. They're still young, but I shall look on their future endeavors with great interest and pride. Then I thought of our nieces, their families and my brother's kids. All of them are so accomplished. All of them were way further ahead in their lives, than I was at their ages.
I mentioned this and Micki made several concessions for me. She said that I had done a few things over the years, too. Like what, I asked. I restarted this blog, I wrote a dozen or so short stories, I went from walking at the YMCA to consistently running three times a week. These were just the personal ones. She mentioned going from a regular board member of a local non-profit to the chair in that time, also several successes at work.
I thought for a moment as the countryside passed outside our car windows. She wasn't entirely wrong. These were fairly prosaic accomplishments to me. Nothing on par with winning book awards or crossing the stage with a masters degree. My life is pretty quotidian. I'm surrounded by brilliant, talented, hard-working and successful people, a fact which, in itself, makes me extremely proud. I'm not saying that I am jealous. However, my little accomplishments aren't quite on the same level.
The more I thought and meditated on this over the next few days, the more I wondered what was at the root of my sense of disconnection from accomplishment. Micki had given me a list of things that I had done that showed that I wasn't just a human lump. Why did they feel silly by comparison? At length I came back to that word—comparison—and saw the crack in my thinking.
It is one thing to compare prices or deck stain colors or the duration of different routes. It is entirely another to compare one's life with others. This has the tendency to make one feel somewhat unhappy. The word kept floating in my head, when I remembered the adage, “Comparison is the thief of joy”. I started to see light in my mind.
The adage is right, to a point. Comparison may also be what inspires or impells a person to work harder, do better, take chances. I realized that I was focusing on the wrong word. It was joy that I needed to think about. In my head, I swung the ship of thought hard from ‘comparison’ to ‘joy’. Here was a destination I knew well. This was a place I had become comfortable in. Joy, for me, meant shifting from thinking my own accomplishments have no gravity or heft, to immersing myself deliciously into a very fulfilling life.
If I were to list all the things that bring me joy, I would soon dozy the heads of my readers and wear my thumbs down to nubs. That's a good place to be. My wife, my kids, my work (generally), our family, our traditions, they bring me great joy. That joy forms the tectonic plates upon which my life is built. And for that, I am incredibly grateful.
In my mind as I performed this mental exercise, I came down hard on gratitude. I have a lot to be grateful for. The life I have is made up of all of the celebrations, joys, moments of great happiness and the stratum of pride I feel at all times for my loved ones. That is a kind of wealth that exceeds riches. One of my best accomplishments is that I have been here, sober and recovering daily, to experience it, share in it, feel pride and love for the accomplishments of my family. I am a very fortunate man. Understanding that fundamental fact—acknowledging that, accepting it, thrilling in it--has been a treasure I cannot even begin to fathom; a king's ransom of joy for this man.
Subjecting myself to comparative thinking is good. Given the chance, I have excellent examples to emulate in my own journey. And maybe I will write that novel or long-form nonfiction book. That's not a priority now, but it could be in the future and I'm sure not going to draw a line under it yet. Aunt MJ would have—in fact did—insist that I at least try my hand at it. Success is not the point, of course, because just attempting something audacious is really an accomplishment.
In retrospect, leaving PA and coming to NC and starting a family and taking on all the challenges and joys of being a husband and a father is the best and remains the most rewarding accomplishment of my entire life so far. So, in future, when I am feeling a little short on my own accomplishments by comparison to my talented, brilliant, incredible wife, kid and family, I will remember just how lucky I am to be here and share their glory, but also the decisions that got me here.
