A Cure for Envy

Some people dream of becoming a celebrity and enjoying the advantages of fame, wealth and leisure. However, out of a population of billions, only a select few can join the glitterati. To earn admittance into the elite club, one must have either one or a combination of traits such as talent, luck, looks, self-promotion, or connections. Early on, I dismissed any notion of my becoming a famous athlete or actor, because I lack talent for those professions. However, I never gave up wanting to become a famous writer. My talent may be modest. I don't know. It is difficult for me to judge, and it is natural to have hope.

This evening, I read excerpts from the journals of a successful American gay writer from the 1970s. Although he may not enjoy much name recognition today, he earned enough to support himself through his writing, and I think some of his books may be found in any public library of a substantial size.

Anytime a person publishes excerpts from their journal, the flattering passages will be distilled to a high concentration, giving the impression of a fantasy life beyond the reach of most of us. The depressing and mundane will be excised, making it appear that their life was far superior to our own. Envy can take hold of the reader.

He dropped such golden lines as "one million copies of my books are in print," which fell upon my head like a brick. Another passage read, "present at the party were..." (a list of prominent authors, editors, and artists followed). He records casual sex and shared marijuana highs with beautiful people as though they were commonplace, everyday occurrences. He attended fabulous parties where he befriended some of the leading gay intellectuals of the day.

I felt an unusual emotion, like sadness, and wondered why I should be feeling sad. Then I understood it was envy I was feeling. I seldom feel envy. But in the case of a gay writer, who unlike me was published and able to support himself with his writing--yes, I suppose that I would have liked to trade places. Very much so.

I had to put the book down. I felt embarrassed to feel such a base emotion as envy. All things considered, I have had a pretty good life. I should not be envious of someone else. Plenty of people have had less luck than me. What about them? I should consider their lives, rather than just the lives of those who seem better off.

The cure for envy strolled into the room on four legs. I wondered if my cat ever wanted to be like me, as I wanted to be like the prominent author. I have a more interesting life than my cat. I can drive a car, use a computer, and host dinner parties. My cat can do none of these things. The difference between my cat and me is even greater than the difference between me and any successful writer.

But my cat does not care. It is content. It does not want to be like me, as far as I can tell. I admire that attitude. It is my cat I should envy, for being above the petty emotion of envy. My cat lacks the reasoning power to compare and contrast the advantages of my life with its own lot. This is why it does not feel envy.

Animals can teach us lessons as well as reinforce old lessons. I was reminded tonight that human intelligence has drawbacks. Intelligence introduces errors into our thinking. Envy is one such error. Observing the cat teaches me to discard the errors that arise because of intelligence, which is often a mixed blessing in human beings.

I suspect that a famous writer looks to greater writers such as Mark Twain or Shakespeare, and compares his lot to theirs, and feels envy as well. Unless, that is, he has a cat, and makes the same kind of observations that I have made.