Do not covet thy neighbor’s house (or hair)

I was envious of my friend, L, when we were in our twenties.  She was blond, blue-eyed, thin and extremely pretty.  My dark brown hair was wild and curly and I was certainly not “pretty.”  Or thin. L married a guy who went into his father’s successful business and had oodles to spend. I married  a struggling artist.  She lived in a big apartment on Park Avenue.  I lived in a smallish apartment in a decidedly less glam part of town.  Her mother treated her like a princess. My mother wasn’t especially adept at making anyone feel special. L had a maid.  I got down on my hands and knees and cleaned my own toilets.

You get the picture.

As the years went on, my envy of L (or anyone else) dissipated. I became more secure and recognized what a textured life I had. I understood that grand, rich, and pretty are only adjectives. They don’t define a person. I saw time and again that while rich can be fun, it doesn’t protect you from illness and tragedy. Pretty fades.

Envy is not pretty. It pervades every corner of the universe, from Israel and Palestine to Fox and MSNBC; from the halls of Congress to the Hollywood Hills. Why can’t we start a universal campaign to eradicate envy?  I’ve already chosen the color of the ribbon. Green.