Is Comparison Really the Thief of Joy?
Lately, I’ve been reflecting on the role comparison has played in shaping my life. Often, when I share feelings of insecurity or vent to friends about my fear of being perceived, I’m met with the adage: “Comparison is the thief of joy.” And sure, that sounds profound when you slap it on a Pinterest graphic or post it on Instagram Stories with a moody sunset background.
But honestly? I’m not so sure. If comparison is the thief of joy, it’s also been the chaos agent that turned my life around a time or two. I’d argue that comparison has also been an essential and, at times, transformative force in my life.
I grew up in a small town in Nebraska — population: not much. My childhood smelled like gravel roads after a good rain, tasted like tator tot casserole and wild mulberries, and sounded like the hum of combine harvesters.
We had a Walmart the town over, and it was (literally) our cultural hub. As you can imagine, I didn’t exactly grow up rubbing elbows with high society.
I was painfully shy as a kid — so shy that even in a town where everyone knew my name (and probably what I ate for breakfast), I struggled to make myself known. My fear of judgment and desire to avoid attention rendered me introverted and reserved.
From an early age, I found myself comparing my life, my achievements, and even my personality to those around me. It’s easy to chalk this up to some unresolved insecurity, but comparison, whether competitive or admiring, has been a recurring theme in my story.
While comparison has occasionally been a source of insecurity, it has also been a powerful catalyst for growth. For today's sake, I’d like to reflect on a pivotal moment in my life when comparison reshaped my trajectory.
A New Chapter in Charleston
When I was in eighth grade, my mom decided to move us across the country to Charleston — a decision that uprooted my sheltered midwestern life. The move was a seismic shift; Charleston’s vibrant culture, diverse people, and stark class distinctions were unlike anything I had experienced. What began as an overwhelming culture shock soon became an opportunity to reinvent myself.
Suddenly, I was plucked out of the cornfields and dropped into a world where classism was alive and well, and kids wore clothes that didn’t come from Walmart’s clearance rack. It was like stepping onto the set of a CW teen drama, except I was the awkward side character.
Eager to shed my shy and awkward persona, I gravitated toward a group of classmates who embodied the rebellious, edgy image I admired. They skipped class, cussed like sailors, and seemed to know all the lyrics to music I’d never heard of. I thought, These are my people! Spoiler alert: they were not.
For a time, I immersed myself in their lifestyle, convincing myself that their validation was worth the cost of my identity.
Within two months of hanging out with my new crew, I’d gone from honor-roll darling to every parent’s worst nightmare. I skipped class, got banned from the eighth-grade prom (yes, really), and even drank wine coolers in our trailer park because nothing screams “rebellion” like Bartles & Jaymes. Oh, and there was a questionable texting relationship with a 16-year-old. Let’s not dwell.
But then, just as I was teetering on the edge of full-blown delinquency, two unlikely heroes emerged.
The Influence of Ross and Austin
High school introduced me to two neighbors, Ross and Austin. These two boys, who also lived in our trailer park, couldn’t have been more different from the crowd I had fallen in with. Ross, the quintessential golden boy, was a popular athlete and honors student. Austin, equally accomplished, was introspective and thoughtful, and during our friendship, he trusted me with the secret of his sexuality — a brave revelation for a teenager navigating the complexities of identity.
Together, they were like a wholesome sitcom duo, and for reasons I’ll never understand, they decided to take me under their wing.
These guys didn’t just befriend me — they parented me. They’d shake their heads when I bragged about my “wild” wine cooler escapades and gently remind me that skipping class wasn’t exactly a life goal. Hanging out with them felt like a summer-long intervention, but in the best way possible.
Spending time with Ross and Austin was a revelation. Their friendship showed me that success, kindness, and authenticity could coexist. They were living proof that you could be smart, successful, and kind, even if you grew up in a trailer park. And I wanted in on that.
They didn’t just accept me; they encouraged me to rise to their level. In their company, I found a new sense of purpose. Comparison, in this case, didn’t rob me of joy; it ignited a desire to grow.
Over the course of a single summer, I abandoned my rebellious phase and embraced the values Ross and Austin embodied. I rejoined sports, excelled academically, and began to see myself through a more compassionate lens. Their example reminded me that while I couldn’t change my inherently shy and awkward nature, I could channel my energy into becoming the best version of myself.
A Lifelong Impact
Fast forward to today, and I’ve achieved milestones I once thought impossible. I attended college on a full scholarship and later earned a master’s degree. I’ve traveled the country, worked for the Mayor, and have even lived in several large cities — small towner no more.
Reflecting on those accomplishments, I often trace them back to that formative summer with Ross and Austin.
I recently reunited with them at Ross’s wedding, and let me tell you, the nostalgia was real. As we reminisced about our childhood, I realized just how much their friendship shaped me. Even now, 15 years later, I feel lucky to have had them in my corner.
Their influence was subtle yet profound. They set a standard that I wanted to meet, and in trying to emulate them, I found my own path. They taught me that comparison, when rooted in admiration rather than envy, can inspire growth. It’s a lesson I carry with me to this day.
Reconsidering Comparison
So, is comparison truly the thief of joy? It can be. There have been moments in my life when comparing myself to others left me paralyzed by insecurity and self-doubt. But there are also times when it has propelled me forward, challenging me to evolve and achieve what I didn’t think possible.
The key, I’ve learned, lies in balance. Comparison can highlight our deficiencies, but it doesn’t have to define us. When we focus on using others’ strengths as inspiration rather than a benchmark for our worth, comparison can be a powerful tool for self-improvement.
For me, the answer to whether comparison is the thief of joy is nuanced. It depends on how we wield it. In the right context, comparison has the potential not to steal our joy, but to enrich our lives. Sometimes, it’s the spark that sets you on fire — in a good way.
