The secret to unhappiness

Figure 1 - the chart of comparisons

Ever felt like a writer is speaking straight to you?

I had that when I first read Catch-22 in high school. (Greatest book of the 20th century on the human condition.)

In the novel Joseph Heller describes a character called Colonel Cathcart. And the way he talks about him makes me feel like he’s looking right at me through the page with laser beam eyes.

He’s writing about me.

Because he describes the colonel as being -

‘Impervious to absolutes.’

This character has zero ability to measure the success of his achievements using his own internal standards.

Everything must be compared to the achievements of others.

No absolutes. Only relative comparisons.

‘His idea of excellence was to do something at least as well as the men his own age who were doing the same thing even better.’

For example…

He was conceited because he was a full colonel at the age of 36…

But he was dejected because although he was 36, he was still only a full colonel.

Now, I got such a shock when I read these words all those years ago.

At the time I was a diligent and desperately insecure high achiever.

I was conceited because I was attending one of the top schools in the state - but dejected because I wasn’t top of my class.

I was conceited because I was playing volleyball for the Australian junior team - but dejected because I was a bench player.

I was conceited because I’d reached the State finals for athletics & cross country - but dejected because other girls got to nationals.

And so on.

Despite my bruised ego I cackled out loud. Then I called my friend Hamish, who had given me the book, to laugh with him.

The fact that as a 16-year-old girl I identified so strongly with a fictional 36-year-old colonel from a 1960s military satire, was both incredibly disturbing and weirdly reassuring.

What’s even funnier is…

Over 20 years later, I’m still impervious to absolutes.

I’m conceited because I’ve got a PhD… but dejected because some of my friends are surgeons.

I’m conceited because I can run a 20-minute 5k… but dejected because there are women who run marathons at that pace.

I’m conceited because I’m plucking up the courage to write these words and get them out there… but I’m dejected because there are women who are published authors with millions of followers.

I’ve got zero internal compass.

To the point where I don’t even know what I enjoy doing without the external feedback of others.

When my posts & emails get likes and comments I’m overjoyed and in love with writing… but when they’re met with indifference I’m filled with despair and want to burn my work to the ground.

Even - and this is really embarrassing - I’m proud because I have two beautiful kids… but some of my friends have three or four.

And they’re surgeons.

Ooft.

Yes, this shit is exhausting. I reckon I’ve discovered the secret to unhappiness.

What’s more, my primitive brain has even developed a complex chart on which I can quickly and almost automatically rank my standing relative to another other woman as a way of scoping out whether I should feel conceited or dejected. (See Figure 1 above)

Look, I’m not proud of this.

But I’m working on it. And I’m also trying to be gentle on myself. Because it’s not my fault.

Society – schooling, social media, modern marketing - has conditioned us all for a life of comparisons.

Not absolutes.

Especially us women. We’re conditioned to compete with each other - for the men, the status, the money, the territory. (Case in point - the bachelor.)

I can already hear it in my 7-year-old when she comes home from school. The language of comparison - better than, smarter than, bigger than, faster than.

But I’d like to think something else is possible.

So I’m turning this shitshow around.

I’m working on putting on my blinkers and looking inward, reconnecting with what I value, and thinking about what I truly enjoy doing.

What would I do if no one was watching or giving praise?

Asking myself that question makes my brain do somersaults.

But I think I’m getting closer to my truth.

Because watching my beautiful daughter get engrossed in flow state through play and doing what she loves has made me realise…

My own inner 7-year-old has the answers.