Comparisons Can Show The Bigger Story of Us

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I learned to compare myself to others early on. I was a kid when I compared myself to those who could wake up on a dry bed sheet rather than one soaked in urine. Whoever could do such a thing was far better equipped. I never met anyone who couldn’t do that. I was the only one I knew who woke most mornings wet and sad, embarrassed, a bedwetting expert. It took decades before I learned there were more leaky child bladders out there. Too bad I didn’t know that then.

Bedwetter prowess as a kid will give you much training in the art of comparison.

Over time, it seemed that the fallout from this early experience — unable to go to sleepovers until I got older, feeling like a failure at what I figured should be an innate ability — set me up to see myself as an outsider. By the time I got to high school, I had plenty of friends, and it appeared I wasn’t an outsider in the minds of others, but in my mind, I was. I knew how to fake it.

But maybe all of us fake it when it comes to comparisons. If we assume we’re less-than, we don’t exactly parade around town. We stay incognito and tamp down our view of ourselves. We place ourselves within the social hierarchy — not too high — and don’t do anything stupid, like prancing as a less-than. This is how we keep safe and emotionally unscathed.

Then there is the flip side of comparison, the side where we’re higher up on the social continuum. Maybe we have more education or wealth. Or we enjoy more status or ability. We might feel nicer or smarter, more generous or experienced. The list goes on.

For example, recently my son told me with a twisted face that the banana oat bars I made were “interesting”. He was joking — but serious. He’s an IT professional who places high value on cooking and baking. I thought my bars were delicious. They had everything in them, including vegetables. Sometimes my baked goodies are even a slimy green, thanks to a chemical reaction among ingredients I can’t ever seem to remember.

My son’s humorous comment reminded me that I fall lower on the baking continuum. You’re not going to hold an esteemed rank in everything you do, but if you’re a fan of your green cookies, good for you. Just think twice before bringing them to a potluck.

But I like that I think the words spinach and cookie go together, and I have a freezer full of these things. My stash also sits as the background for my recent foray into learning about homelessness — and it’s hit me hard. Comparing my healthy snacks   to the fact that some people live in cardboard structures in the heat of summer in unwashed clothes is a comparison that has cut me to the bones lately. The tears will come as soon as I notice yet one more thing I take for granted that I know would be such an extreme luxury to someone else.

I started writing this piece over a year ago after I read an article in the Washington Post about a homeless teen who became his high school’s valedictorian. It was a story that inspired as much as it hit the gut, but it wasn’t until many months later, when I began reading more on homelessness, that I got knocked straight over.

I read about the foster care system, about the experience of constant insecurity, and the harrowing statistics of homelessness. The more I read, and the more I peeked at the folks standing at the local street intersections with “Please Help” signs and a small container, the more this comparison of people’s lives grew inside me — and continues to.

I guess I’ve had homelessness in the back of my mind since I was a freshman in college.

In the 1980s, I started my undergraduate degree in Philadelphia. It was there that I joined a feed-the-homeless effort run by an organization in the city. We’d meet up on the weekends and walk around the city streets, handing out food to people who were living on the sidewalks and in the nooks of buildings. It taught me things I couldn’t have gotten from any other source. Seeing, talking, and interacting with someone who is homeless is the gold standard for changing your heart.

These days, I’m trying to channel some of this heart change into my writing. We’ll see if I can leverage it. It’s not fun and games. Comparing yourself to someone who struggles a bit can bring up compassion for them. Comparing yourself to someone completely down and out can throw you into deep sadness. You think, why does this kind of pain have to exist?

Intellectually, I know it will continue to exist, but emotionally, I still silently wail that question at the world.

Comparisons are metrics for understanding and gauging our past and future. We can’t make sound decisions if we don’t know the lay of the land. We teach each other simply by being markers along a continuum. We can see cause and effect in each other, to the extent that it’s possible to discern, which often it isn’t, but we make the best guess we can.

Comparisons aren’t bad, but we can get into trouble if we connect either our potential or our achievements to them too much. We can either assume we’ll never live up to others or that our accomplishments make us inherently better.

When we compare our current selves to our past selves, there are pros and cons. We’re either improving or failing by comparison — the angel and the demon of how to look at ourselves. I coach others — and myself — on this tidbit. The angel is fantastic, while the demon is a jerk we must banish.

But comparisons help us to see truths out there, too — the bigger story of all of us. This is why we have helping organizations in the world. Life isn’t fair, even despite all the autonomy you might throw at it. Maybe you live in an area that gets hit with bad luck or hard times. Maybe you started your journey here on earth in a challenging situation, and it only got worse from there. Maybe mentorship was never available to teach you how to use the tools in your toolbox.

In three weeks, I have my first stint at Comfort Cases, a non-profit started by a friend of one of my soccer mom besties. I’ll do whatever they need me to do, most likely fill backpacks for foster kids. When I went to sign up for a volunteer shift, the calendar was booked months out. This tells you something, doesn’t it?

It tells me that while comparisons can be harmful, they can be helpful. They can spur action — for us or others. They help us to understand that moving forward should be the reason to compare. That to compare is to know, to act, and more than anything, to grow.

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Hope you're doing well, friends.