Envy

“At heart, envy boils down to this: everyone else has it easier than I do.  And so they are obviously happier than I am.”  -- James Martin, The Jesuit Guide to (Almost) Anything.
 

Envy always seems to be with me.  To paraphrase one of my favorite priests, it is my default sin.  The one that keeps coming back no matter how many times I confess it, how many times I try and avoid it, there it is again rooting its ugly head.  With envy, there is a tendency to maximize my own difficulties and minimize my blessings while at the same time, maximize another’s blessing and minimize their difficulties.  My life is hard.  It is a unique hard.  It is a hard like no one else has.

Envy is comparison.  If only I were more outgoing, less chubby, less awkward, more confident . . . blah, blah, blah.  This implies that somehow, how I was made, how I am built, and how I tick is not good enough.  My personality type is an INFP, also known as the healer.  For those not familiar with the Myers-Brigg it can be summed up this way:  I am an introvert that is slow to process information, slow to engage in conversation until I have had ample time to observe and organize my thoughts.  I dream big, but my dreams are fueled by a deep sense of values.  And this means I am not one to focus on details and small tasks.  And I am flexible and adaptable to my surroundings with a lack of consistency and strict discipline.  INFPs are rare – less than 2% of the population.  Only rarer are the “mastermind” INTJs (my husband – aren’t we a fun pair!)  I did not decide to be an INFP – it is who I am; it is how I was made.

When I am writing or doing psychotherapy, being an INFP is a perfect fit.  For those moments, I am comfortable in my skin.  I can celebrate who I am and how God has made me.  When I step out of that, I start to compare and criticize who I am.  If only I were a more consistent parent like my sister-in-law . . . if only I were more disciplined in my eating and fitness then I would not have a muffin top . . . if only.  I begin to envy what other women have and assume that they have a problem-free, easy life.  

As I was told by the same favorite priest – with envy, there is no room for love.  When I compare, I begin to assume the other’s life is better than mine and I begin to resent them.    But more than this, I stop looking at the blessings in my own life.  I stop celebrating how I have been uniquely and wonderfully made.  I slap God in the face and tell him he screwed up in making me and he should have made me more like that person over there.

The cure?  Love.  Love who God has made me to be.  Accept the personality, passions, and biology that I have been given.  Focus on who I am and use those gifts.  Play the part I have been given.  I had a dream several years ago that I was an oboe player in a symphony and my job was to play measure 47, a B-flat (it was a very vivid dream).  I did not like the part I was given.  I wanted to play a different note.  But to resist the part I was given would create a cacophonous sound.  The beauty of the symphony is everyone playing their part in harmony.  If I hear the teachings of St. Paul correctly, we are one body with many parts – a foot is to be a foot and not try and be the nose.

And the rest of the cure?  Love my neighbor.  The envious stance of minimizing the struggle and maximizing the benefits of others is not loving.  It is assuming – making judgments without taking the time to know the person.  This is objectifying the other; stripping them of their personhood.  They are only what I make them out to be.  Everyone has their share of blessings and struggle.  If I take the time to truly love my neighbor then I suspend my assumptions, take time to hear their story and walk alongside their journey.    

Where there is pure love, there is no envy.