I’m a compare-er. I compare myself to other people all the time and I know it’s wrong.
But I don’t care. I do it anyway.
And I will until the day I die.
I know that people have made millions writing books about how to be the best you that you can be and that we’re all special and unique, we’re all perfect in the eyes of God.
And then you get a parent, teacher, boss, friend, spouse or your very own child telling you that you’re no different from anyone else…
And there goes the self esteem…pfft…right down the toilet with the toothbrush my son dropped in there when he decided to brush his teeth and throw up at the same time.
Along with any pride, honor, fulfillment or any other self absorbing feeling I may have ever had.
I’ve been doing this comparing thing since childhood and I have a pretty good idea why I do it, but it matters not. I could self analyze myself all day and the results would be the same.
I hate the person I’m comparing myself to…
Like last month when my husband and I both decided to cut back on the soda intake from a few times a week to a few times a month.
We had agreed to try this little experiment together so we wouldn’t kill each other whenever one of us was jonesing for an orange Shasta.