envy at the table

thoughts on the deadly sin

I envy the most eloquent people I know. I can’t imagine being able to speak with the same sense I write, not getting mixed up in a hundred paths of thought and tripping on words. Writing gives me space and allows me to understand things in a way I struggle to do with solely my voice, and yet there are people with multiple languages in their brains and they still manage to choose the perfect words to say, at the perfect time.

I envy people who aren’t plagued by overthinking, who don’t scream before they jump, who have wild-running sunshine spirit and just leap, laughing. I know those who treasure me call me their light but I can’t help think about all the ways in which I’m scattered with clouds. Clouds are beautiful too of course – interesting, unique and ever-changing – but sometimes I envy the clear blue-sky optimism I see in others’ spontaneity. Their rays aren’t covered, and they’re beaming.

I sometimes envy wealth and beauty like capitalism expects me to. There are people who always buy what they truly want off the menu, who treat their parents to vacations, and never get upset over the way a skirt hugs their stomach. There are people who are skinny enough to wear sports bras as tops without anyone batting an eyelid, and who do their make-up nicely without stressing about the time, layering expensive jewellery thoughtfully. I can certainly admire these people without a green twist in my core, but there are days when I feel like I’m always falling short, and well-dressed bodies with good posture are a sour reminder of things I’ve never been.

I envy people who are living intentionally: intellectuals who read countless books and are more likely to share a philosopher’s idea than the gossip they overheard last night. I envy people who go hiking without complaining, enjoy eating broccoli and thrive in the mornings – people who choose smoothies over coffee and invite strangers to do yoga with them. I envy painters, especially those who don’t care if what they create is “good” – I envy people with the audacity to demand to be heard, and those who always have a plan for their birthday when it comes around, as if they’re not scared to age.

I envy heterosexuals who never have to keep their partner’s gender secret, and go abroad without googling discrimination laws. I envy people who don’t get choked up when drawing their boundaries, and don’t have a bad habit of misplacing things. I envy people who don’t relate to the gut-punch of Taylor Swift’s words:

“give me back my girlhood, it was mine first.”

They don’t know that the lyric made a collective of hearts drop – each of us driven towards our own disturbing memories, mourning who we were before them.

Mostly, I envy people who feel no envy at all.

But then I wonder, do they really exist? The people who seem to feel envy the least tend to be people who have either fallen in love with simplicity, or are just so deep in their acceptance of it. They don’t hover too long over a picture of a stranger’s figure; they read Substack posts without second-guessing their own talents – they are likely people who have no social media at all.

I don’t think I feel that much envy, but I know it well enough to sit with it over dinner, listening to it vent. It manspreads, counts calories aloud and pities me for not dressing up. I think most of us have a little envy, whether it’s in a typical way or another. That might make it easier to accept, but it doesn’t make it any easier to like.

Perhaps what’s most uncomfortable for me is that I’m not even sure if all the envy is real, or if a lot of it’s spoken from an external voice telling me I should be envying all of these things. It’s calling me out when I dare to feel adequate, giving me reasons to be insecure. Although I try to surround myself with noise that will reassure me I’m allowed to love myself, maybe I’m still fighting years of believing that I don’t deserve to feel like I’m enough. Growing up as a girl meant being told that envy is ugly but simultaneously being shown it’s what we’re supposed to carry – so we’d feel it, daily, but wouldn’t name it so.

Deep down, is envy mine?

Or is it something I’m being sold.

Given the choice, I wouldn’t swap anything about me. I’d grab opportunities to quiet my demons and evolve into someone wiser but I wouldn’t want to snap my fingers and turn into someone new. So what’s the purpose of my comparison?

Why is envy still here?

It rolls its eyes at me and shows me the mountains, the sea, the moon. If I’m so tired of envying people then it appears to be time to envy nature instead. And how could I not envy all of that, when humanity will clearly never measure up.

But despite all our flaws, I truly cherish being human. I just wish I could scratch away the worst deadly sin – the one that’s desired the least and lingers calmly, trying to go unnoticed, but itching when it gets bored.

taken in Finnish Lapland