Comparison kills us. Deciding who’s better or worse, top or bottom, in or out. It leeches the life out of us and destroys our morale. It keeps us silent.
Worst of all, comparison kills community. And without community, we cannot address the loneliness epidemic that we all face.
The Curse of Comparison
No one wins when we compare.
And I’m not really talking about the comparisons we make between other people. We know we shouldn’t sit in judgment over others. It’s clearly unkind to make that one “in” and the other one “out.” Declaring someone’s value based on what they wear, where they vacation, the color of their skin, or how well they fit in on Sunday mornings—we know that’s not okay.
But today, I’m more concerned with the habit we make of comparing ourselves to other people … and finding ourselves wanting.
We’re always at the bottom of our own list. I’m the wrong one. The broken one. She’s got it; I don’t. (And if anyone can tell me what it is, I’d be forever grateful.)
We were going to share or reach out or send the email. We were. But after comparing ourselves, we conclude we don’t have anything to offer or share after all. So we don’t. And we stay rooted in our loneliness.
You Decide: Better or Worse?
Yesterday, a friend of mine got to see Michael Buble in concert. She was nearly giddy with anticipation because she never expected to get the chance. It was a dream come true, literally. And she was so excited.
Yesterday, I went to church, made Sunday dinner, sent my kids to the pool with my husband, and went to Walmart to get supplies for the VBS lessons for the week. When I got home, I prepped fruit for the kids to try, ran to the church, organized my stuff, then taught the VBS lesson five times in a row in an non-air conditioned church. After I got home, I made a quick supper for everyone, put away the rest of what I bought at Walmart (or at least moved it out of my kitchen), did bedtime, loaded the dishwasher, and finally went to bed.
Yesterday, my friend’s son had another seizure. He spent the afternoon at the hospital, but was home in the evening watching over his resting child.
Three people. Three days. Which one was good? Which was bad?
Not Better or Worse
The truth is, none of those days are even comparable.
My one friend watched a performance (good) she’s waited for years to see (bad). My other friend watched his son suffer an attack he’d hoped never to see again (bad). But he also had the medical resources he needed to deal with things, and though they don’t have many answers, they weathered another storm (good).
My day was good and bad, too. I love teaching VBS, and overall, it went very well. But I also ran like a crazy person and let tired and crabby leak into what I was trying to accomplish for the day. I was rude to people in my hurry.
My day was hard. It was. But I didn’t tell anyone much about it because my friends who were also at VBS last night have been as busy as I’ve been. They were at softball tournaments and work and running all over town. They had late nights, and their kids were just as wiped out as mine.
So I didn’t tell anyone how I felt. She’s been as busy as me, if not more, I decided. I don’t have any reason to complain.
Connection Kills Loneliness
But what I missed was a chance to connect.
I compared our days and decided mine wasn’t worth sharing. But it was. Because my day isn’t better or worse than the day my friends had. It was just different.
And what everyone needs, really needs, is to know they were seen. To know that people care about what happened to them. They want to know we care.
But when we hide the things that happen to us because we think, in the comparison, that theirs is better or ours is worse, we cut off any chance for connection. For community. For belonging.
Because my friends might have said, “That’s tough. I totally understand.” But I didn’t give even one of them the chance.
Comparison is like fertilizer for loneliness. In the shadows of our comparisons, particularly those that put us dead-last in importance or value, loneliness will thrive.
So go ahead. Share your day. Make the connection. We can weed out loneliness when we refuse to emphasize the comparison.
