We all know that comparing ourselves to others comes with personal and professional risks, the main one being that as individuals we can develop a sense that we lack something that others have — and this is bad for our confidence, sense of dignity and self-respect. But despite this awareness, for many if not most of us there still may be fine, sometimes very fine lingering threads of comparison; hardly noticeable most days, perhaps, but nevertheless there. In subtle ways they may affect our sense of belonging and contribution, our faith in our own insights, the range of behaviors that reflect our self-confidence — losses that undermine the sense of the good life we deserve.
As a defense we compensate, often also in marginally noticeable ways. I might find myself becoming critical of someone onto whom I’ve projected whatever it is I believe I might lack — including when I can’t even seem to figure out what that thing is. I may well find myself falling into the trap of rationalizing obscure and subtlely painful comparisons as actually being a kind of motivation, leading to even more self-criticism. I see that so-and-so just got promoted (or is having a laugh with the boss) and I suddenly feel a tincture of guilt for not working harder or not looking for a better job. I feel bad in whispers while telling myself it’s good for me to be spurred forward in this way.
And yet, literally, spurs are those nasty little wheels with points, worn on the heel, the rowel driven into a horse’s flank to “teach” it to go forward at our command. In human terms, such teaching pain is frequently meant to drive some form of accomplishment, a mechanical demand that digs a little wound, a little hole into the human flesh of self-esteem. And pretty soon, like the horses, we only need to know the rowel is there to jump ahead.
Comparisons are all about background triggers to baseline emotions, including tough feelings like envy and anger, and it is also about how we learn to shut our emotions down. Comparisons bring us close to the submerged rocks in the path of our ship: not good enough, not deserving; flawed in some dark or ambiguous but always penetrating way.
Have you noticed that some people that struggle with self-esteem are addicted to comparison with others who seem to have something they do not — even, paradoxically when they do possess it but don’t think they do? They may call it modesty, but it’s not really that at all, and it leads to a sense of separation, of not belonging, of addiction to what mystic and philosopher Eckhart Tolle calls the “pain body” that we can’t help but feed with our sense of not living up to a potential or of repeatedly disappointing others. I sense that even if magically they were suddenly to overcome these difficult inner voices they’d worry about pride taking over, a harbored sense of superiority, better than others becoming just as isolating as worse than. It’s all trauma, maybe small t, not big T, but trauma nevertheless.
I lay in my bed as a college student in the late Sixties and before sleep comes to me I notice a phenomenon that is hard to describe. In a way it seems related to that extraordinary Wallace Stevens poem called “Of Mere Being” that begins:
"The palm at the end of the mind,
Beyond the last thought, rises
In the bronze decor...."
Read it at the link if you don’t know it. In the 19 year-old “decor” of my mind, something flashes darkly and draws me in. I would almost call it a hole (maybe a worm hole?) in that decor, if in fact there are words for it, which there are not. It is “beyond the last thought.” I do not realize at the time how important this phenomenon will be or the lasting meaning it conveys. It is the place where spring water bubbles out of the earth. It is the bubble in an infinite darkness from which I have my view of our trembling planet. It is the courage to be who I am, the trust I feel in my identity. The place I rest that is completely outside comparison with anyone or anything at all. Everything is rich, full, connected and there is peace.
I did not know it at the time; it was only an inkling of a discipline and vision toward which I still travel each day, faithful to the journey. I find few apt descriptions of the phenomenon, but Jiddu Krishnamurti comes closest. He says:
“The quality of that silence, that stillness is not felt by the brain; it is beyond the brain. The brain can conceive, formulate, or make a design for the future, but this stillness is beyond the range, beyond all imagination, beyond all desire. You are so still that your body becomes completely part of the earth, part of everything that is still.”
“And as the slight breeze came from the hills, stirring the leaves, this stillness, this extraordinary quality of silence, was not disturbed. The house was between the hills and the sea, overlooking the sea. and as you watched the sea, so very still, you really became part of everything. You were everything. You were the light and the beauty of love. Again, to say ‘you were a part of everything’ is also wrong: the word ‘you’ is not adequate because you really weren’t there. You didn’t exist. There was only the stillness, the beauty, the extraordinary sense of love.”
Dan,
I love this new piece of yours. Krishnamurti and Tolle are two of my favorite spiritual teachers.
Your description of “fine threads” of comparison and the image of the spur digging into the horse’s side resonate with me. You touch on something I see often in people’s lives: how quietly comparison can wound our confidence, dignity and sense of belonging. From a spiritual psychology, and spiritual coaching perspective, I believe one of the main forces underneath those spurs is envy — not as a moral failure, but as a very human signal that something in us feels “less than.”
In my own work I describe envy as a kind of inner ulcer. It rarely announces itself as “I am envious.” It shows up when a colleague is promoted, a friend buys a new home, or a neighbor seems to move on to a happier life. Outwardly we may smile, but inside something tightens and whispers, “Why them and not me?” When this happens repeatedly, that whisper becomes background noise. It can quietly shape our mood, our relationships and even how we see our own potential, much the way you describe the subtle erosion of self trust and contribution.
Your pointing to Eckhart Tolle’s “pain body” comparison as a kind of trauma resonates And I agree — envy is never really about the other person; it is about an old story we carry about ourselves, i.e., we are not enough, not worthy, not lovable unless we measure up. When that story gets triggered, our nervous system reacts. We may puff ourselves up, judge others, or shut down emotionally. None of this brings real relief. Even when there is a brief pleasure in gossip or criticism, something in us often feels ashamed afterward, as if we have moved farther away from who we really are.
I love the picture you offer from your college years — lying in bed, sensing a kind of “hole” beyond the last thought, the place where “everything is rich, full, connected and there is peace.” Krishnamurti’s words about stillness beyond the brain touch the same reality. In my language, this is the ground of intrinsic worth. It is a felt sense that my value does not rise or fall with the market of public opinion, with likes, promotions or the good fortune of others. When a person touches even a small taste of this ground, the grip of comparison can loosen. Life becomes less about keeping score and more about listening to what wants to unfold through one’s own unique path.
For me, the question beneath the question is: how do we actually move from the pain of comparison back toward that kind of stillness in daily life? I encourage very simple, practical steps. When envy or comparison shows up, instead of denying it or shaming ourselves, we can pause and name it: “Envy is here.” Then we bring our attention into the body and notice what is happening — tight jaw, heavy chest, knot in the stomach, shallow breathing. Staying with these sensations for a few breaths, without adding more mental story, allows a bit of space. In that space we can ask a different question: “What is this reaction showing me about what I deeply long for?” or “What part of me is afraid right now?” In other words, my favorite question, “Why is this happening FOR me?” Envy becomes a messenger, not an identity.
From this place, we choose to direct our attention gently turn from other people’s lives back to our own. Rather than “Why don’t I have what they have?” the question shifts toward “What wants to grow in me?” or “What small step would reflect my own values today?” Often this is very humble: an honest conversation, a new boundary, a daily practice, a small act of courage that has nothing to do with being better than anyone else. Each quiet step is a way of living from the stillness you describe — from the “place outside comparison” where we feel part of everything, not superior or inferior.
In this sense, I see your article and my perspective on envy as companions. You show with great clarity how comparison and the “pain body” of “not enough”-ness can wound our sense of self. My focus is on how envy fits into that picture and how it can be worked with in the body, heart and mind so that it becomes a doorway rather than a life sentence. Both point to the same invitation: to move through the world less driven by the spur of self attack and more grounded in a quiet, trustworthy sense of who we already are.
FWIW, in all the years I’ve been reading your work, I think this is your best piece! It touches my heart and soul.
Peter, thank you so much for your lovely comment. I agree that envy can be such a powerful clue to growth. I love your question, “Why is this happening for you?” that can open up the conversation to the depths.
Another way in may be realizing the personal truth of the phrase, “If you spot it, you got it” and then finding the path–that initial recognition that the thing I’m seeing in another person is what is also latently in me. I might well ask, “Is there something in that person that you would like to have?” Or in other cases, for example when a client is mystified by another person’s reactions, I might ask, “Might there be something in you that he/she would also like to have?” so that instead of simply being critical and full of disdain, the client is confronted with their misunderstanding of what envy looks like in the world and is encouraged to find a more compassionate way to support and share that thing as a partner. Then there can be growth on both sides.
As always, my great appreciation to you for filling in your refinements and wisdom around the gaps and fissures in what I have written.
All the best
Dan
Love your mirror insight Dan, “spot it, you got it” turns envy into a shared awakening. Spotting my potential in others (and theirs in me) feels like the real path beyond comparison. it’s co-awakening. Envy becomes a bridge, not a wall, fostering partnership where growth happens on both sides. Flipping criticism into compassion. Truly, a win-win — psycho/emotionally/spiritually. Good stuff!