Senior year of college my bedroom was poorly insulated from the Michigan cold. It led to me spend a lot of time in my bed, under the covers, electric zebra print blanket plugged in and encasing me like a pig in a, well, blanket. I spent a lot of time in my bed senior year, anxiously awaiting my post grad life. I spent hours tweaking my resume, scouring job postings, having informational phone calls, and doing my favorite activity, the WikiPanic. I just made that word up George R. R. Martin style. The WikiPanic is when you go down a rabbit hole of famous people’s wikipedias to see exactly what they did and did not do to get to where they did or did not get. It’s not a fun game. One afternoon I made a literal spreadsheet of every SNL writer I could find who had a wikipedia page and I wrote down where they went to college, their first job post grad, and any stand out romances. My data lead me to the conclusion that— everyone’s path is different.
For as long as I can remember I have been holding myself in constant comparison. My city vs. other cities, my hair color, my nose shape, my diet, my aspirations, my relationships, my favorite TV shows. I spend so much fucking time rubber necking when I should be looking forward. Did you guys love that traffic analogy? I’m running on 5 interrupted hours of sleep because I kept waking up before my alarm because I had to move my car before 8am street cleaning and then I moved it and came back home and tried to go back to sleep but couldn’t because I was thinking about what outfit I could wear to work that would both conceal my bloated menstruating figure and also look good enough so if Luke Kirby runs into me in the elevator again to ask me “what’s new” I can answer with confidence and he can have a crush on me. He plays Lenny Bruce on my show and soon he’s playing Ted Bundy in an indie film. Men can do anything.
I got rid of Instagram for the month of June. I want to take pictures not for the end goal of sharing them in the void, but for me. I want to decide where to eat based on where I like, not where I think people are going. I’m turning my shoulds into wants. And I’m not getting bangs god damnit. Comparison, to me, is a way to constantly check myself. But it softens my sharpness. I’ll like the outfit I’m wearing until I see one I like more on the subway. I’ll pick my appearance apart and compare it to the way girls look on Instagram. I’ll scroll on plastic surgeon website’s before and after pictures of noses and think to myself, this is kind of what Hitler wanted, and then close the tabs.
Pulse check: how do you compare yourself to others? See how I’m comparing the way we compare? Neat. I think that most of us compare in similar ways. We look at people roughly our age, roughly at the same point in our career trajectory, and we draw Venn Diagrams in the air. This person is my age but goes to more shows than open mics- am I doing something wrong? This person went to the same school as me but now works at this consulting firm and I only work at Deloitte. Am I a big dumb idiot? The viciousness in comparison lies in its ability to make us just feel inadequate. Like it's a constant race and we’re losing. Comparison is not only the thief of joy, but it’s the thief of peace. How could I ever be happy or content where I am if there’s always going to be someone more advanced? In better shape? Able to whistle?
You guys can’t tell because this isn’t a podcast (thank god) but I just took a break and scrolled on TikTok and then Linkedin. The two professional marketing apps. On TikTok I see people roughly my age with massive followings producing funny content and promoting new smart water hydroblast for dogs. On LinkedIn I see people climbing corporate ladders, in heels. It all makes me feel bad because I think I’m doing worse than these strangers. I think I’m farther behind. This cynical mindset is keeping me from appreciating everything I’ve accomplished and I’m trying to crawl out of it. One year ago I was sitting on my couch at home. Today I am sitting on my couch in Brooklyn. I caught a mosquito with my bare hand and just slapped another one dead on my wall. I feel like that opening scene of Wonder Woman where all the girls are strong and don’t need men. Oh wait the feeling is fleeting but it was nice while it lasted.
Oh no, were you expecting a resolution? A thoughtful ending? I don’t have a lot of those lately. My thoughts are spaghetti and I’m a plate. There isn’t a lot of room and the noodles are sort of spilling all over. This is my Strega Nona moment. I’m going to take all my wild thoughts and dreams and aspirations and feed them, al dente, to the neighborhood. When everyone is eating together, and everyone is well fed, we don’t need to look at other people’s plates. I want all of you reading this to be happy. To be proud of yourself. To feel like you’re doing enough. No more comparing, only pasta. Ciao.
Sooo good. Ed and I look forward to these every week.