Jealous or envious? Whatever, I still feel it
Let me admit it right at the top:
I’m envious of the friend who’s been traveling all over the world, lazing on remote beaches, gallivanting with giraffes, walking the streets of an ancient capital, dining with high-level wines.
I’m envious of the friend who has still another new book coming out this year, still another likely bestseller.
I’m envious of the friend swimming in adorable grandchildren.
I’m envious of the friend who sleeps effortlessly through the night.
I’m envious of another friend who sleeps effortlessly through long airplane flights.
I’m envious of the friend who still sees perfectly well at an advanced age — and has never needed to wear glasses.
I’m envious of those who don’t feel envy, because envy is not a particularly honorable emotion to feel.
(Nor is its cousin, jealousy. And if you aren’t sure about the differences between the two, I looked up the definitions. While “envy” and “jealousy” are often used interchangeably in everyday language, envy is wanting something someone else has that you lack. Jealousy, on the other hand, is the fear of losing something you have to someone else.
In colloquial language, of course, jealousy is often used much more broadly, sometimes encompassing the meaning of envy. That is, you’ll frequently hear people say “I’m jealous of your new car” when, technically, they mean “I’m envious of your new car.”)
Whichever word you use, at a certain age, it’s definitely not becoming. When you get to that age, when you’ve been on the planet for seven or eight decades and when you’ve accomplished a lot, acquired enough, you should no longer feel envious — envious of those who have done more or acquired more. That time, surely, has passed, and envy, you completely understand, is not productive. Surely not something you can do anything about at this point, not something you should feel.
Except, sometimes we still do. I do.
Let me be clear, though: I don’t begrudge my friends all the traveling, the fine wines, bestsellers, effortless sleeping and adorable grandchildren. I don’t want them not to have all those things. I just, sometimes, want some of those things — more of them — too.
I know, after all these years, it’s not good, that envy. I know envy is “the green-eyed monster” Shakespeare describes in “Othello.” No, wait a minute — that’s jealousy, I think. I’m envious of Shakespeare for having come up with that evocative description.
And here’s the confounding thing: I know, as well, that my own life is pretty darn … enviable. We have a strong, long-lasting marriage, good kids, a nice home, lots of friends, sufficient financial resources, still get to do lots of traveling, are pretty healthy all in all. Lived in interesting places, done lots of interesting things, left a bit of a mark. Not bad, in sum.
There are probably a lot of people who are envious of me. And although it also may be unbecoming, I have to admit: I sure hope so.