Sometimes I compare myself to other people. And by sometimes, I mean, literally always. Facebook. Instagram. Snapchat. All that shit. Fuck it’s toxic.
I wonder what it would look like if I took a diet from facebook? Mind you, this could be a bit difficult… I’m a bit of an addict when it comes to shit that feels good. The recent genocide I committed against hundreds of innocent Easter Eggs can attest to that. Facebook, just like murdering innocent Easter Bunnies, also feels good. Getting that notification is like holy fuck knuckle, yeah baby, someone is thinking about me! That is of course until I check the notification and realise it’s some advert from a Dax Wax page I liked six years ago back when I actually had hair to use the shit on.
Comparison is such a motherfucker. Pretty sure it was some Yoda-level wise person that once said that. Maybe it was Martin Luther King Jr. Or Gandhi. Actually, I think it was The Tooth Fairy. Either way, doesn’t matter. Point is, comparison is a motherfucker!
Comparison is right there when you think you’ve done something good. The other day I put my shirt on the right way around. It was fucking epic. I was high fiving everybody. Until Comparison popped up and said, “Yeah, congrats, that’s not bad, but look at what Jimmy from High School is up to – he owns seventy-three Llama farms, two islands off the coast of Costa Rica, has written six books, is a world Chess-Boxing champion, and in his spare time rescues Baby Elephants from Kenyan poachers”. Then I was all like “fuck me sideways, back ways, front ways and upside down ways, all I did was put my shirt on the right ways. I bet Jimmy eats right-way-around-shirts for breakfast.”.
Well, I reckon this comparison shit is a waste of time. Jimmy ain’t me. And I ain’t him. And maybe he has ambidextrous shirts. I don’t know. And so, I’m trying to be more conscious about recognising when I’m comparing myself to other people. I recall when I was working at a well-respected global accounting firm I felt inferior compared to those working in law firms. Then I realised that kind of work sucks the fat kumara. Well, that’s not entirely true – I’m sure some people love it, but I definitely don’t. However, even now I find that motherfucker Comparison rearing it’s comparatively-large-head. Comparison looks at the peeps in those gigs making the money which I can now only dream of since I’ve learnt I literally cannot do that kind of work as to do so feels like repeatedly stabbing myself in the face with a broken Jack Daniels bottle… so… I’m like “Damn you motherfuckers, how do you make doing that work look so fucking easy!!? Don’t you want a Jack Daniels bottle too? I’ll smash it up for you if you like.”
Truth is, I ooze with envy. Totally jealous of their ability to slog away at it, printing money. Envious because they are able to do something I am not.
The problem for me is, once I know how to do something, that’s it. Stick a fork in me baby, I’m done! It’s game over. Because once I know how to do something it’s fucking boring at that point. Unfortunately, this is a little to my detriment because I’ve learnt the way being an adult in the world works is roughly this:
- Get good at something
- Do lots of it
- Print Benjamins (money)
I’ve learnt I’m good at point 1, but points 2 and 3 are where I lose the plot. Once I know how to do something, why the fuck would I keep doing it? To me that’s insanity. I’d rather listen to a Walrus sharpen its teeth on the side of a metal van.
So, what to do?
Find a new game. Find a new thing to get good at it. Do it until I’m good at it, and then right when I’m at the point where I can make money from it, ditch it altogether and find something else. Jamie Oliver wouldn’t be too keen on that recipe because it’s a pile of dog shit. But, fuck him, he ain’t me. I’ll eat the shit.