Green-Eyed Monster

{Image by Citrisblossoms at DeviantART.}

Do you have a part of yourself that you really don’t like?

A part you try to quash regularly but which keeps rearing its ugly head?

The thing I really don’t like about myself is that I am prone to fits of envy with regard to certain people I know. I don’t like it when I do it, I think it is immature and weak-minded; but often, particularly during moments of vulnerability, I succumb to the green-eyed monster.

What started my descent into peevishness was my pair of Doc Martens biker boots. I have had them for over ten years and they are my favourite boots. There is a hole in the sole of the right boot. I went to the cobbler and asked him to replace it with a genuine Doc Martens sole. He said I would have to replace both soles or I would develop a lop-sided walk. To replace both soles would cost two hundred dollars.

I am in a debt-ridden financial situation at the moment. It is all business debt from my husband’s shop. We are both working to clear it and to our credit, have cleared half of it. We expect to be completely debt free within a year, but a lot of things have to be sacrificed to get there. Including boots that cost two hundred dollars to re-sole.

So I plugged up the hole with gaffer tape and went round to my friend Megan’s house for dinner.

I love Megan. She is the kindest, most thoughtful, most decent person I know. We share a love of books and French films among other things. She is one of those people who would drop everything at four in the morning if you needed her to.

But occasionally when I am with Megan the green-eyed monster slips into my psyche like some form of demonic possession.  You see, Megan is rich. I know I shouldn’t care. I know what money really is and what it does, but when you don’t have it, it assumes an importance in your life that it doesn’t deserve.

Megan comes from a wealthy family. So does her husband. She lives in a house worth over two million dollars. She goes on holidays three times a year to places like Paris and Prague. She dresses immaculately. Her house appears comfortably furnished; understated, but you just know that everything is an antique.

Megan never ever brags or big notes herself. She is humble and modest. She readily admits that she has a good life and that she appreciates everything she has. I know all this. I can see she means what she says, but sometimes when the green light lodges itself in my soul, I wish that just for a moment, she could understand, really understand what it is like to struggle.

I feel so bad for thinking like that. She is my friend. A real friend, and I shouldn’t wish anything bad for her. Ever. Yet I think part of the problem with always having it easy it that it can become difficult for you to conceive that other people sometimes find themselves  wedged between a rock and a hard place.

Megan and I had a fight last year that almost turned into a serious falling out. She had booked a holiday house for a week for us and three other families. It was a luxurious, waterfront place with its own jetty. We couldn’t afford to go. A measly five hundred dollars held us back. I was embarrassed that I couldn’t afford five hundred dollars so I engineered this story that I wasn’t really fond of one of the families going and I couldn’t possibly spend a whole week with them.

To my horror, Megan confronted the other family, asking them what they had done to upset me. It was a nightmare. I had no choice but to come clean and tell her I was broke. The entire incident put a huge strain on our friendship, but it taught me an important lesson – it is always best to be honest. Don’t be ashamed of your life. Present it as it is. Dignity is important. Especially when you’re skint.

I don’t like envy. It is an ugly emotion. There is nothing to be gained from it but further resentment. Your lot is your lot. It is up to you whether or not you make the choice to try and change it.

I am going to make a conscious choice to crush that green-eyed monster that lurks within me. No more wishing I could live the life Megan does. My life is one of the few things I can call my very own. And there’s something to be said for that.