That ol’ devil competition

NOELLE STERNE tackles the most uncomfortable of emotions, envy and jealousy, and how competition with others can either cripple us or force us to try a more positive and enlightened approach. 

For me, competition takes the form of predictable pangs of envy seeing the high school science nerd who sat in the back getting a MacArthur Fellowship. Or my friend marrying a billionaire tech mogul. Or a book club member whose novel never seemed to be finished landing a contract with a major publisher. Or, as I was working on this article, a novelist who has written 14 Course in Miracles bestsellers, publishes in the top magazines, and appears on many television shows. 

In a Unity booklet, 40 Days of Letting Go: Lent 2023, the Reverend Cylvia Hayes describes those envious feelings perfectly: “Competitiveness keeps us focused on who we think we’re supposed to be rather than celebrating who we already are… our sense of worth on a comparison with others’ accomplishments, rather than truly appreciating our own unique talents, traits, gifts, and expressions.”

Much as I try distractions, the comparisons and pangs sit heavy on my heart, coloring everything—the wonderful pasta meal, the delicious nap, the invigorating swim. I repeatedly tell myself that the successes of others don’t have to affect mine, but I’m never convinced. Soon the pangs spread and become full-blown depression.  

Strategies

I’ve tried many tactics to dilute the depression. Console myself with the nerd’s lack of a significant relationship (in contrast to my longstanding one). My girlfriend’s losing battle with weight (in contrast to my slimming down and keeping down). The book club member’s frizzy hair (in contrast to my sleek pixie). The multi-novelist’s penchant for formularized paranormal romance, which I’d never do. But, at best, these are band-aids. I immerse myself in my writing, attempting to block out everything else. But soon my plaguing inner editor rears up: This is garbage. Throw it out. You’ll never get anywhere.

I go out with friends. Or watch a string of rom-coms or lawyer shows while decimating a whole bag of corn chips. Or sleep too much.

None of it works. The feelings can’t be covered, substituted, or held at bay for long. I’ve tried to block them out with whatever method, and I feel no better. And then they spiral into a fireworks of fervent vindictive wishes (the nerd’s latest invention blows up, my girlfriend gains so much weight she can hardly walk, the book club member fails to deliver her manuscript on time and her contract is cancelled, the novelist’s next one is a turkey).

I really hate myself for those malevolent wishes of my small mind, ungenerous spirit, and cruelty I didn’t know I was capable of.

So, what to do?

How to counter the cruel competitive feelings?

I’ve learned to turn away from the thoughts that lead to those competitive and depressive feelings. My methods of spiritual reading and meditation may not be for you, but I’ve found them supremely helpful, and you might want to test them out. 

Turning away is hard when the anguish seems to have me enslaved. If I’m successful, turning away is only half the remedy. It may weaken the intensity and the hold those feelings have on me, but more is needed. 

Thoughts trigger feelings, and I remind myself that I have the mental capacity and will to change my thoughts. The remedy, again not easy, is consciously to substitute other thoughts. 

I discovered a Bible passage that became the perfect substitute for my teeth-gnashing envy. In 1 Corinthians, Paul writes to the fledging church at Corinth, Greece, about their conflicts with leadership and personalities. As with many of Paul’s letters, he supports and encourages the members, urges them to solve their disagreements, and always reminds them of the supremacy of God. 

In the passage that struck me (1 Corinthians 12: 4-11), Paul addresses the erroneous idea that one person’s “gift” is better than another’s. It also resonates down the ages with a priceless lesson, especially when that ol’ devil competition rears up.

Appropriate to the culture and time, Paul enumerates gifts each person is given—wisdom, knowledge, faith, healing, working of miracles, prophecy, discerning of different tongues, speaking in tongues and interpreting them, and the crowning conclusion:

All these are the work of one and the same Spirit, and He distributes them to each one, just as He determines (1 Cor. 12:11).

Although Paul’s examples of “gifts” may differ from the ones we covet today, his insights apply. For me, it’s the talents and successes of novelists. For my obese girlfriend, it may be the diet and willpower of an impossibly slender model. For my book club colleague, it may be the perseverance of another author whose books make it into movies. For the paranormal romance novelist, it may be writing a wholly realistic novel. 

Yet, who is to say that an author has more gifts to share than an airport attendant, a senator than a sanitation worker, a physicist than a plumber?

Some of the gifts may seem more important, more contributory. But again, who is to say that the sanitation worker isn’t providing daily blessings to everyone in the neighborhood? A Course in Miracles reiterates Paul: “Love makes no comparisons.” 

I invite you to think of your own gifts and whom they bless.

In The Artist’s Way, Julia Cameron comments that competition and jealousy are “always a mask for fear: fear that we aren’t able to get what we want; frustration that somebody else seems to be getting what is rightfully ours even if we are too frightened to reach for it.” 

Cameron says that competition is a “spiritual drug.” We focus on the wrong thing, on them and their accomplishments, instead of our own work. Her solution is to “go within,” to what “our inner guidance is nudging us toward.” As we turn within, our own work rises up to greet us, we get excited about it (at least a little), and become engrossed in it rather than bemoaning our ill luck in the wake of another person’s successes.

If you’re jealous of a friend who writes good crime novels, Cameron says, “Try writing one.” For me, with gnawing jealousy of the novelists, the answer is to finish my damn novel and start sending it out. Cameron is also reassuring, obliquely echoing Paul: “The truth… is that there is room for all of us.” 

In addition to her sage advice, I’ve found another antidote for that insidious poisonous devil competition: gratitude—to recognize my gifts and be constantly thankful for them. Every time the devil threatens, I turn away and instead say to Him, “Thank You for what I have and can give.” It works.

Paul offers more: Each of us is given gifts or desires “as He determines.” Therefore, should we not thank Him for His particular gifts to us and the many opportunities—places, people, situations—to use them? Yes.

And should we not develop and use them to our utmost? Yes.

He has given us gifts according to our capacities for our own and others’ good. Should we not express gratitude? Yes.

Reminders such as these show me how to stop fueling the competition engine that erodes my writing, my desire to contribute, and my enjoyment of life. The engine sputters to a stop. With a grateful heart, I return to my work.

Thoughts trigger feelings,
and I remind myself that I have the
mental capacity and will to change my
thoughts. The remedy, again not easy,
is consciously to substitute other thoughts.