No comparison

I'm learning a lesson this week that I have learned many, many times in my twenty-nine years of life. And I'm sure I'll be learning it again in the near future.

It's not nice to compare yourself to other people.

It's really not. You end up feeling like kind of a loser. If you're anything like me, you also end up finding fault with other people, just so you can assure yourself that you are better in some regard. In any regard. (There's nothing quite like passing a little judgment to boost your spirits.) And then you get over yourself and go on with life.

For example (you know I love examples, right?), my sister's weight at the height of pregnancy - with twins, no less - is my ideal weight. (Notice how I didn't mention a specific number there? A girl has to have some secrets, you know.) This gets me a little peeved. How is it that my ideal weight can be the same as the most she'll ever weight? It doesn't seem fair. Sure, sure, I'm half a foot taller and have shoulders like a linebacker, but still. I don't like it. That's where the fault-finding comes in. Because at least I can truthfully state that I've never had the misfortune to live in Utah. So there.

I had a roommate in college who was the nicest girl I've ever met. Of course, I haven't talked to her in a while, so for all I know, she's turned into Simon Cowell. Possible, though not probable. The point is, this girl did not have a mean bone in her body. She probably didn't even know how to be mean. I, on the other hand, am sarcastic and judgmental and get uncomfortable around very sincere people. I'm not sure what to make of them. Fortunately, I can bake a mean pecan pie. The aforementioned roommate could ruin boiled eggs. Problem solved.

Most of the women in my ward (heck, in the world) can sing better than I can. I stumble along with the altos and only raise my voice if I'm absolutely sure I'm singing the same notes as the lady beside me who actually knows what she's doing. Since there are quite a few females in the ward, and the world, my fault-finding has gotten quite creative. There are the fall-backs, of course: I always wipe my kids' noses; my house is cleaner; my husband is better looking; etc. It goes downhill from there. My hair is thicker. My fingernails are cleaner. I chose a better exterior color for my home. My kids' names are more normal. I'm a better speller. My nose is smaller. See? Not even remotely logical.

I hope I've learned my lesson. This time.


P.S. I wrote this post last week, before President Monson's talk at the General Relief Society Meeting. He may as well have started off with "Becky, you pay close attention now. I think you can learn something from what I'm about to say." I think I did.