Which Is Clearer? This one, or this one.

Ever visit the optometrist and feel as though your eyelashes may become entrapped in the flicking of different prescription lenses that are part of the mounted mask-like contraption placed in front of your face? The difference in vision ranges from a stark blindness to clarity: It is as if all the smart phones buzzed in unison signaling an eminent snowy white-out that lasts a good 5 minutes before mere flurries speckle the sidewalk here and there. Then there are times when the difference is so negligible that you feel as though you are being punked and you or your insurance are paying too much to be taken for a fool. Comparisons: You can’t live with them, and you can’t live without them.

To compare is considered a heinous crime. Comparisons are considered thieves of joy. We’re constantly reminded that we should only use ourselves as the yardstick for success and that we’re all on different chapters: My snapshot of someone’s resolution chapter, after their story’s climatic conflict, conflicts with the current state of my story. Where am I? I am at the cusp of having my confidence crippled before it’s not. I am trying to make light by being an alliterative wordsmith, but this method of strength training is some type of magic. That is to say, you really only need your body to chisel your form – kettle balls, free weights, and cable machines are more obvious tools, but one’s own extremities, core, and mental capacity to not shrug off a standing crunch or a skater slide as having all the qualities of imposter syndrome, can do wonders.

Prior to Christmas Eve, my parents treated me to a mother-daughter mani-pedi date. I zeroed in on a hunter green color with specks of luminosity, foregoing my penchant for matte (not a patent leather, sprinkles on food, or glossy gal type.) When I tilted the small nail lacquer bottle over, my eyes glossed over the enamel’s given name: “Envy.” As in I am green with envy?  Talk about six degrees of separation theory.

Paris on Gilmore Girls referred to Rory as being “green” when it came to facing the post-college professional job hunt. Rory was not as savvy as Paris was: She didn’t take note of looming deadlines, nor did she tailor-make resumes and cover letters, nor did she air on the side of caution and attempt to apply for any opportunity that would damn her and her target discipline of newspaper journalist. But then I flip to one of our Satellite international channels and see black and white music videos of “evergreen” classics. In this case, greenery is considered timeless and connotes quality. Take someone who only thinks about greenery- cue President Trump’s past Prime Time series, The Apprentice, the show’s title of which suddenly causes “Money, money, money…. MO-NEY,” - where the last vowel is pronounced more like it’s counterpart, the letter A, than the letter E – on loop. Here green is harping on gluttony. Greed is a vice. Yet, if President Trump suddenly has a hankering for taking shovel to White House lawn, well, then he would have a green thumb, and would be promoting abundance, vitality, oxygen and possibly sustenance to spread around. It would be money-minded, but in the sense of being economical.

Comparisons, one could say then, is a necessary evil, like stress. We need cortisol. Comparisons enable us to see a calibrated system. My therapist, interestingly and unrelated to the beginnings of this essay’s conception, said that I was obsessive about measuring, about numbers, and comparing. I needed to disengage from that. When we compare, we can assess our own potential. Perhaps? But then again, how does one manifest what potential can be reached? What qualified that person with whom we compare to have tapped into the secret of potential? How does this person provide a standard? What comes first: the chicken or the egg?

Speaking of the animal kingdom, my mother would always say, “Monkey see, monkey do,” which she swears is one of my uncle’s taglines that she hates as much as his other completely idiosyncratic antics that she takes personally. All that said, the phrase is meant to denote outrage in a passive aggressive way. There is nothing worse than fatal attraction, and mimicry is a glorified improvisational skill. Let’s move on from fowl, to poultry, to primate, to puss. That’s right, we’re speaking of the quintessential Copy Cat: That person who sees what you do and carries it off as his or her own.

As an academic, and furthermore, a journalist, there is nothing worst than plagiarism. Think about being assigned a group project, the members of which did no work but were given credit regardless. What then about the concept of their being no greater form of flattery than having one copy your decided moves? I suppose that was part and parcel of the term “mover and shaker,” or a person who zigs when you think they will zag, and shakes things up so that no one sees it coming. No one can determine where the confetti will float once the piñata is hit, just like no one knows, unless one is a Physics major, where the released candy will concentrate. To that same affect, it could be that the person copying has no conscious awareness of having done so. If someone decides that they will go to the gym only because you have decided to, despite not having any intention of going, and may go begrudgingly – just to get through it because he or she would not know what to do with his or herself otherwise, well then, perhaps that is compulsive. And in this respect, everyone should probably have a therapist.

Arguably, a therapist can be in the form of a local acquaintance, a friend, a relative, or member of the clergy. Perhaps it is the child who so innocently consumes a piece of cake with glee, but also pushes away the cookie, without any preconceptions on how that may manifest – its classic intuitive eating. As someone whose subscribes to a discipline that requires citing sources, using direct quotations, having one’s own voice, and also trying to access figures of authority for quote unquote, unbiased content, having a schooled therapist with credentials, is something I believe is akin to a Darwinian principle. Here’s how you can survive.

Comparing prices may make you feel inadequate. Comparing how much mileage you’ll put on your car, gas, gas costs, time, and the price for purchase, can be alluring but also a task requiring unnecessary effort and energy. In attempt at being economical, one is burning off steam and becomes dated. At this point, accessing energy saver mode, pesky lingering droplets on freshly dishwasher-cleaned cutlery, be damned.

Documentation is a thriving conduit for comparative analysis - how much you accomplished one day versus the other. Scales that measure gravity’s pull don’t take into account water intake, activity, temperature, and hormonal balance, and yet comparisons run amok. Our phone flashes how many hours we spend staring, scrolling, and surfing so that we can assess the difference from day to day, and week to week. It becomes tiresome more so when we see how many less steps we clocked in on one day compared to the other. If technology is said to improve our standard of life, well, then it is predicated on comparisons. How then, can comparisons be adverse? Perhaps here is where moderation benefits. But then again, where does moderation come in on the spectrum far right versus far left?

As long as you can see more clearly, whether that be in the mind’s eye or not, and you are not tripped up, but are safely, soundly, erect, living, and breathing, that is the comparison you want in your life. It has yet to be determined where exactly this magic point on the forever plotted points, resides.

To be continued.