On comparing shipwrecks.

Congratulations, you’ve made it another week in this upside-down world we currently find ourselves living in.

I’ve noticed something happening that’s really unhelpful and it’s been on my mind for a few days now.  This is not the first time I’ve written about this unhelpful phenomenon, and it’s probably not the last.  It’s something that slithers in to our seemingly innocent conversations, perhaps under the guise of “gratitude” or “perspective”, both good things at face value, but when used as a mask for something else can be incredibly harmful, hurtful, and dangerous.

I’m talking about comparison.

One of my favorite quotes of all time is Comparison is the thief of joy, widely attributed to Theodore Roosevelt, and over and over in my life I’ve found it to be entirely accurate.   In other seasons it might be comparing accomplishments, awards and acclaim, working hours or salaries, busy-ness levels, love, body shapes and sizes, or any one of a million other things we can compare to others and be left feeling insufficient, unwanted, or unappreciated.  Whatever it is that makes you think that’s not fair.

In this season what I’m seeing is something even more sinister; instead of comparing what is usually considered good, we are comparing the shipwrecks we all find ourselves in right now, in one way or another.  This usually starts with at least or includes a comment such as lucky you, and is intended to point out how much better someone has it right now than another person.  These are all things I’ve seen in the last week or so; some of them, I do confess, are my own.

At least you don’t have to worry about losing your job, I don’t know if I’ll have one tomorrow.

At least you don’t have children to worry about, I’m losing it trying to homeschool and work and feed them all and keep my house from imploding.

At least you have people who love you in your home to keep you from feeling the desperate loneliness I experience every single day. I haven’t talked to another human in over a week.  No one would notice if I died.

Well, you’ve only been on quarantine for four days; I’ve been under for twelve. It only goes downhill.

Lucky you have Amazon and restaurants are still delivering; you can order anything you want to keep you busy, 

At least you have a fridge full of food and a house to live in.  Did you read that story from India about all the starving people walking for days to get to their hometowns?

At least you have a house, we don’t even have a yard to spread out in, we’re crammed into an apartment.

At least you still have good internet, ours is trash.

Lucky you are near to your family, mine is a million miles away and all flights are cancelled.

And on and on.  I’m sure you can think of a few more.

Joy is hard to find right now, I know. I feel it. The news is awful, the restrictions keep coming, the numbers keep climbing, the supplies keep dwindling. But comparing one situation to another is like comparing one shipwreck to another; while they look different, it doesn’t end well for anyone. The ship is never meant to sink.

I’m not saying this won’t end well; on the contrary, I think once we make it through this upside-down season we are in we will come out stronger and more resilient, more appreciative of things like hugs and runs and grocery store clerks and hospital cleaning staff and all the millions of others laying down their comfort and stability to save lives.  We will also all be touched with grief, with loss, with financial or familial struggles, with a sense of this isn’t how it was supposed to be… but this is how it is, and comparing that grief and loss to someone else’s will still be unhelpful, long into the future. At least her mother didn’t die.  At least they still have a happy marriage. At least she didn’t lose her life savings. At least they didn’t have to go through what I did…. It’s so unfair.

Yes, it really is. It’s so unfair. It’s so unfair that the world is upside down, that some people are devastated while others complain from their comfortable homes while others are killing themselves trying to save others.  Pointing out where others should be grateful might sound like a noble thing to do, but often it comes with a backhand of shame; be grateful for what you have, because you’ve actually got it really good, compared to me (or them).

That may be true. I’ve got it really good compared to a lot of people, but also, it’s still really hard.  And minimizing that isn’t helpful.  I want to be compassionate towards the grief and loss that everyone is feeling, no matter how ‘insignificant’ someone might judge it to be, it’s significant to them, and loving others well means holding space for whatever needs to be felt and grieved and surrendered, not minimizing or comparing or shaming. 

I’m sorry for your loss.  I’m sorry life doesn’t look like it was supposed to right now.  It’s okay to be angry, or anxious, or fearful, or sad, or whatever else you feel.  I’m glad I can feel because it means I am alive. And for that I will always grateful.  

 

My Jay, gazing at the houseplant with longing.  He wants to go hiking, I'm sure. Same, buddy. Same.