Putting Envy to Death
LAURA PATTERSON | GUEST I still remember the way I looked at her Barbie Jeep car. My friend Camille lived around the corner from my house and, as a four-year-old, I dreamed of steering my own. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed riding around in the pink motorized vehicle with her—but it wasn’t mine. Tragically, another birthday and Christmas came and went with no box big enough to contain such a magical gift. Name-brand items were not a commodity in my family of origin, and my parents were big on “delayed gratification.” They clearly didn’t know that I’d be living my best life if I got to traverse Bideford Drive in my own Barbie-pink car. Pride’s Baby Envy is not something we have to learn, nor is it something we outgrow with age. We merely trade in its childhood objects for adult versions. Our bestie’s Barbie Dream House is replaced with the real-life “Dream Home” we eye on Insta each day. Pride is the mother of envy and, once it is born, envy cries out for round-the-clock care. Sure, it may learn to sleep through the night, but it still awakens unexpectedly and is incessantly needy. Comparison is its fuel, and it speaks the language of the toddler: “Me! My! Mine!”...