The Futility of Comparison

Hello, dear readers!

Some context for today's post: In part, this is an assignment for one of my current classes. I've posted the assignment outline below, verbatim, for the sake of interest.

Initially, given that it's a creative writing assignment, I thought this would need to be a separate blog post. Once I began to consider the implications of what I needed to write about, however, I realized it would fit very nicely into today's post's intended context.

Here's the outline:

"Choose an inanimate object in your work-space. Note: This could be a chair, desk, plant, pencil, or whatever catches your eye.

 Write a blog about the following:

• • What is the story of this object?

Imagine it sitting next to another object of its kind but of much better or much worse quality:

• • What is it thinking about that other object?"

Here's the assigned post:

Stone on Stone

Stone on...

The gentle clink against the glass of her desk was my first clue. I thought nothing of it, initially. It was, after all, the same clink her glass made on the desk when she left something on her coaster, and so had to remove that something so she could use the coaster for the glass.

My second clue came when she didn't cradle me in her palms. It was her daily ritual to hold me in the bowl of her hands and infuse me with that heady mix of Spirit and Earth energy. She did it even though she knew that I could hold that energy for months, and maybe even years.

My third clue wasn't a clue at all. It was a sighting. What I saw was another version of me; an amethyst, and one so different from me that it was almost unrecognizable.

Where my appearance is natural and earthy, its appearance is sharp and shiny; elegant; fashionable. And she put it on the desk, and in front of her Favorite Things box. She never does that.

Will she ignore me now that she has that glossy amethyst? She probably will. Why wouldn't she? Look at me.

Stone

Ooh. Ouch. It isn't that she set me down hard, it's that the glass is a little hard. Hmm... That Favorite Things box looks comfy. I wonder if she'll put me on it. I hope she does.

I can already tell I'm going to like her. The energy from her hands is warm. It feels good. And she's been very careful with me. I think she likes me. I hope she'll keep me.

Oh, yes! Here she comes again. That's more like it. It's much softer in her palms than on that desk. Maybe now she'll put me on the Favor- Whoa!

That's another amethyst on top of the box. Look at it! It's gorgeous with all its natural features. It looks like it even has some of Earth still crusted on it. I wish I did.

I don't even look like I came from Earth. I look like I came from a lab or a jewelry store, maybe. No wonder she didn't put me on the comfy box. Why would she? I'm not cut out to be a favorite thing. I'm cut to just be flashy.

Ooh. Ouch. That glass is hard...

---

Consider This

We do this, we women. Or, at least, we have. I have.

We draw a comparison to other women that is futile, because although we're all human, and the same gender, we're individuals. We're unique and powerful in our own way, no matter if we present ourselves as earthy or glossy.

In drawing a comparison to other women, we negate the very differences that make us who we are.

In drawing a comparison to other women, we give away our personal power.

In drawing a comparison to other women, we grade ourselves "less than."

What might happen if those two stones were to be held in the palms of her hands, together? Might they then see that they're both appreciated, and let it go at that? Might they then draw more comparisons, and find themselves even more lacking?

Or might they dip into their inner core of powerful knowing, and decide that they are enough, just as they are, and stop drawing comparison altogether?

Over to You

What's your experience? Have you ever compared yourself to another woman, and judged yourself wanting? Do you do that now?