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| Subject: Envy | |
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Author: Judy |
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Date Posted: 09:05:16 03/21/05 Mon I am confiding my insecurities to Nicole when she jumps up from the kitchen table where we sit. She used to have two cats, she tells me. One loved attention. The other would proudly strut past Nicole, pretending she did not care. Nicole demonstrates, thrusting her chest out and lifting her knees as she paces the kitchen floor. She continues excitedly, saying that whenever she would stalk the cat, grab her and stroke her, the cat would purr lusciously, delighting in Nicole’s touch. Nicole lithely thrusts her head forward, then her back, in an undulating motion, mimicking the cat’s pleasure. It strikes me that Nicole may have deliberately chosen her subject matter. Lately, everyone at One Taste tells me that I am cat-like. I happily sink into who ever will have me, folding into whatever bodily curve I can find. But I wasn’t always this way. For many months, I was like Nicole’s cat, hanging out, but pretending I had no interest. Nicole is trying to say that it’s alright to be me. The irony is, her lesson makes me more self-conscious that I am only me, and nothing more. Watching her, I am jealous of the way she moves, like a dancer, gracefully and with abandon. I am jealous of her animation and quick wit, her ability to readily make me laugh. Her charisma represents the freedom that I lack. I am not so clever and I cloak my energy tightly about me. I love to laugh, but I am often serious, content to dwell in my observations of the world. If only I could let go like her, throwing everything into the stratosphere. A week later, I am at One Taste, watching Suzanne push her hands in front of her like an accordion while noises like those of Charlie Brown adults stream from her mouth. She is mimicking herself, as she was the prior evening during the Frank Moore show. Her body moves fluidly, a vehicle for expression. Her face is fresh and she has this excited to-be-alive air about her. I am intimidated. I move to the couch and sit next to Nicole H., leaning into her for comfort. It’s ridiculous. I cannot be everything. But I am jealous of so many women who possess qualities that I lack. I am jealous of charisma because I am mostly so inhibited. At the same time, I am jealous of those who are quieter than me; they remind me that I sometimes talk too much. I am jealous when someone touches me in a way that I like; they have a skill that I want. I am jealous of women who do not care what other people think of them. I am jealous of beauty, of women who have cool boyfriends, of women who are free in their sensuality and those who are less confused than me about what they want. I am jealous of those who are smarter, funnier or more organized than me. I am jealous of those who went to Ivy League schools and those who wear revealing or extravagant clothing well. In a room full of women, my impulse is often to run away. Who am I comparatively? Who would choose me when they can have them? I think, ‘If I only I had what they have, then I could get what I want.’ Maybe then life wouldn’t be such a struggle. I could drop my insecurities, and wondering if I have proper credentials to be someone’s friend or lover. I am sure I’ve always had this jealousy. But I’ve become acutely aware of it in the past few weeks. I can see it clearly, like it is something outside of me. I have this realization that I must lose this sense of what I’m not, and instead know that I add something unique to the mix. I tell this to a friend. “You add a lot,” he says. If only I believed him. Later, I tell Nicole of my jealousy. She says it’s not jealousy, but envy that I feel. I look in the dictionary for definitions. Envy: painful or resentful awareness of an advantage enjoyed by another joined with a desire to possess the same advantage. Jealous: hostile toward a rival or one believed to enjoy an advantage, suspicious. I have both, but I realize that envy is probably more appropriate for what I feel. I want what women have, more than I want to hurt them. In a way it doesn’t matter, Nicole implies with her next statement which goes thunk like a heavy book landing solidly on the floor. “You still think we’re separate,” she says. [ Next Thread | Previous Thread | Next Message | Previous Message ] |
| Subject | Author | Date |
| today... | Suz | 11:38:48 03/21/05 Mon |
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| He was right... | an admirer | 21:16:40 03/21/05 Mon |
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