In Which "Success" Is A Four-Letter Word

If "schadenfreude" is the word for the wonderful happy feeling you get when something bad happens to someone else, what is the term for when someone else's happiness makes you feel like shit?

I was on the second leg of my two-bus commute to work yesterday afternoon, reading a magazine, when I noticed the article I was perusing was written by someone with whom I had graduated from college. We had been somewhat-friends when we were freshmen, until this person did something which I had considered tantamount to a betrayal of my trust. Ever since, though I was always cordial in their presence, I never again entertained any sort of fondness for them. Fast forward five years: we are a year out of college, I am on my way to my part-time job, and what do I see but a definite indication of this person's success?

My initial reaction, of course was, "Fuck. We're one year out of college, and this person is writing for a nationally-acclaimed and highly respected magazine, while I'm nowhere closer to even having an idea of what I want to do with my life." That feeling, I can tell you, is a day-ruiner. But I knew it was my primitive brain talking (my primitive brain is prone to swearing) and soon my intellectual brain kicked in: how, it rationalized, can I even compare my own success with this person's, when our goals are so drastically different? I may not be entirely sure what, exactly, my life goal is, but journalism it is not. I ruled that one out a long time ago. The comparison, therefore, is illogical.

As the day went on, I was eventually able to kick that initial feeling of crappiness and align myself with my intellectual brain's argument. But the truth is that success is so much easier to measure in other people than in oneself. Others may sweat and toil to achieve their goals, but if they do, their peers rarely see it. It is assumed that success is merely handed to them, while we ourselves, like so many Sisyphuses, continue to struggle with no end in sight. In a way, my primitive brain, in its crazy outburst of emotion, made some kind of sense.

I'd like to say that I've learned my lesson and I will never compare myself to other people again and I will live happily ever after, the end. But that's not true. Even when (and if) I do reach my goal - whatever that goal may be - I'll probably still compare my success to others', because that's part of the human condition, the pain of progress. So the grass will continue to be greener in someone else's yard. What I can hope for, though, is that I'll be able to see that mine is plenty green enough.