The Grass, Being Greener, and Enjoying Your Own Yard

Everyone's life suffers by comparison so maybe stop with that shit.

“Dude. I love my family. I love my wife. I do really envy where you are right now. I mean, I hope you understand that the way you ended up there was horrible but, dude, you’re living the dream.”

A year or so ago, just as the news of my imploded third marriage was settling in like a layer of mold in a basement, I had lunch with a younger writer in Vegas. He reached out when he heard about the divorce and the circumstances that precipitated it. I was so up my own ass, focused exclusively on my own suffering, that his desire to compare it to a break up he had from a girl he’d dated was… strange. All I wanted to talk about was my own horrorshow of a life and he insisted on finding parallels with a split from a three-month long relationship as if the two situations were even remotely the same. Like having my leg amputated and a friend wanting to compare it to his recent sprained ankle.

Jumping forward to the present, I’m finding that my married friends are on a different side of the comparison game. Not all but some want me to know how miserable their current domestic situations are or, in at least one case, so thoroughly wretched they genuinely wish they had the freedom from that existence that I currently enjoy.

“Say. I told you that I was sort of jealous of your life lately. Are you at all jealous of mine?”

“NO. Not at all. Not even a little bit. Never crossed my mind.”

“Jesus. You don’t have to be an asshole about it…”

I’ve never been the envious type which may or may not have had something to do with my almost blind acceptance of my third ex-wife’s behavior. Do I compare my life to the lives of others? Sure. I look at their lawns and wonder what it would be like to luxuriate in their yards but I always end up simply appreciating my own grass.

Do I wish I made six figures at work? Sure. Except. Except that I’d likely have to work constantly and have to deal with the kind of people who value lots of money on a daily basis. Pass.

Do I wonder if I would’ve been a good father? Sure. Except. Except that, from all of the anecdotal data, having kids is both the most beautiful thing in the existence of humanity and also the single greatest pain in the ass imaginable as well as the presence of a ongoing sense of anxiety over the safety and success of said progeny. Pass.

Do I want to own a home? Why not? Except. Except that I don’t want to be plagued with the myriad issues of property ownership, of paying a different sort of rent to own but then still being responsible for fixing my own toilet and waking up to a flooding basement that I am then responsible for.

Do I want a long-term partner, a wife, a soulmate? Absolutely. Except. Except I’ve tried that three times and I find that I get better sleep alone, enjoy not being criticized on the regular for simple differences, and really don’t want to have to be a jealous type in order to maintain the fidelity of another person whose overactive libido practically requires infidelity. Hard pass.

The game of comparison is always going to leave each of us feeling somehow less. We don’t compare our angst unless we have joined the parade of Grievance Zombies looking to one-up one another for the race to the most victimized—those folks gave up on finding a dignified approach to living some time ago and have instead decided to roll around in the sewage of requested sympathy for a list of anguish. Hang out with a room full of octogenarians and the list of ailments espoused is the Monopoly board game of the aged. Most of us compare ourselves to the very surface of the life we envy rather than the reality of that life.

We envy the beach body but not the relentless gym time and near starvation required for those six-pack abs. We covet the romance of the couple without acknowledging that she may be wearing him down with a litany of disapprovals and demands that transform him into an upright doormat, a pushover willing to smile and nod while jabbing a fork into his thigh just to feel a semblance of control and autonomy. We crave sex with beautiful people and ignore the fact that sex is a relatively brief experience, wonderful as it is, but the hours in between sweaty monkey love with someone who values their own beauty is interminable.

Here’s a secret. That glass that is your life is both half full and half empty. Music is both the notes and the silence in between. True optimism and a sense of contentment with your own shit is recognizing both the ease and hardship in equal parts. The fact is that the grass over there is almost never greener than your own because you’re only looking at the color of the fucking grass.

My parents’ lawn is gorgeous. Manicured. The back yard is filled with art and stones carefully arranged. It’s beautiful. Standing in their yard, it’s easy to lust after this grand suburban gallery of basil plants and bird feeders. The result is wonderful but the work my mom crunches on throughout the week to maintain that relaxing showroom is intense. Weeding and watering and mowing. It is the conclusion of great effort. We envy the product but not the elbow grease.

I’m not a lonely person. My third ex even marveled at my ability to simply be alone without anxiety. It’s an enviable state of being especially at a time in history when people are feeling lonelier than ever before. I learned to be alone because, growing up, we moved from place to place with some frequency and I had to develop those solitary skills. I was perpetually the new kid in class, the friendships of the last place evaporated in search of a fresh crew. No one craves that experience yet the result is worthy of desire.

The Capitalism of Nature requires hardship to evolve into amazing results. No tough times, no great times. No risk, no reward and all those memes online to nudge you forward. None of my friends are jealous of the work just the outcome.

The only people I find I am clutching at are those whose lives are interesting. Those artists who manage to create work that punches me in the nuts and forces my perspective. Those people who have endured the half empty part of the glass and still enjoy the half full taste of water.

“We must all either wear out or rust out, every one of us. My choice is to wear out.” —Theodore Roosevelt