Ignorance is Bliss

Neighbour’s Lawn

It’s been a recurring theme in the last few days, maybe weeks. Why things that are farther from us seem nicer? It’s the same story with neighbour’s lawn, as it is with someone else’s new toy, and with girls that aren’t ours. Why? Envy, jealousy. Why don’t we seem content with what we have… These feelings are however very widespread — so much widespread, that it’s a feeling that is often mutual: and that is such a nice play of irony…

I can assure you, dear reader: swapping place with that colleague of yours who seems to be just a little smarter, his car is a newer model — or maybe it’s his girlfriend that seems to be prettier? Swapping place with them wouldn’t make you happy. And you certainly know that — nevertheless, we seem to have an innate desire to be “better”, to have nicer things than our neighbours, friends, colleagues. Or at least to think ours are superior.

(Note that I write in plural: I certainly don’t assert everyone feels like this: it might even seem, that I am trying to find my own faults in others, maybe to feel better about them. However, from looking around, it seems to me that it’s not only myself who tends to suffer from these silly emotions. Would you agree? Of course, if you don’t — I stand corrected.)

Perfectionism

Now, this is right — they are emotions. They seem to predominantly plague the numerous group of perfectionists among us (not meaning that the rest of the crowd, maybe more complacent with themselves, would be immune, either). People, what’s wrong with us? I am feeling like a complete idiot, stuck with emotions I don’t want or care for — I am spiteful! Yes, that’s right: I wish that things screw up for other people. But why? Tell me, why? It drives me insane. Really.

I suspect it might have gotten better recently — or worse, for that matter — given how it seems to be a hard job to recollect things in an undistorted perspective. But I am not happy about that. I am not happy about myself: but I guess that’s not so unnatural of a perfectionist being that I seem to be. (Don’t be fooled — it sucks to be a perfectionist. You might get some things more right than others, but: it’d likely be much better to not give a fuck. Ignorance is bliss.)