Comparison is the thief of joy

Just do you

It feels odd being 35 and having a mildly successful career.

At this point in my life, I’m not sitting on a huge fortune, but I’ve got some good skills and experience. The last 10–15 years have been about learning, and now I’m starting to see the results. I’m happy with where I’m at.

And yet, I still catch myself comparing myself against others.

I see old classmates in dead-end jobs, whose careers have stagnated for a decade.

I see athletes I grew up idolising, who have all retired.

I see athletes my own age, praised for still playing at the top level “even at his age” — and with a hotshot 23 year old waiting to take their place.

I see entrepreneurs younger than me who’ve already made their fortune.

And I see peers in my field, some more successful, some not.

I compare myself to each of them, vacillating between feeling good about myself, and cursing the fact I’m not richer and more successful.

Then I realise: among every single one of those groups, there are people who are unhappy.

There’s a 45-year-old retired athlete, staring at his trophy cabinet, and wondering what his life means now that he doesn’t play.

There’s a 22-year-old phenom, struggling with the pressure of being hailed as the next big thing.

There’s a billionaire entrepreneur, on their third marriage, relationships the collateral damage business obsession.

On the other hand, there are happy people everywhere too. The former classmate in the so-called dead-end job might be blissfully content, doing a decent job, getting paid, and spending time with their family. The peer who topped out in middle management maybe just decided that was the right spot for them at that point in their life, with enough money to fulfil their obligations and needs, and they didn’t want the extra stress of more responsibilities.

Which means, comparing myself to those people is pointless. I can’t see the whole of everyone’s life. I can’t see what’s going on inside someone’s head to truly determine if they’re content with their lot.

The only person I can truly compare myself to is me. Am I growing in the direction I want to? Am I living by the values I claim to hold dear? Do I have people in my life that I love, and who love me in return?

And when I put my head on the pillow at night, am I happy with how I showed up in the world that day?

In the end, that’s really all that matters.