I’ve always thought that if I could have a superpower I would choose invisibility.  The opportunity to peek into people’s private lives would be amazing, but I’m not interested in their dirty little secrets.  I just like knowing the odd little details about people. 

One of the magazines I read has a feature that shows the contents of fridges belonging to celebrities.  I love that stuff!  I don’t care about your new movie – I want to see how you organize your closet!  Congratulations on your book – does your toilet paper roll over or under?

I have no good explanation as to why this fascinates me so much.  When I was younger and babysat a lot I loved to look through the cupboards and closets of the people I worked for.  I wasn’t trying to find booze, I was more interested in what kind of ketchup they used (I take my ketchup seriously.  I knew TTO was the one for me when he said “Only Heinz, nothing else

After writing yesterday’s post I was thinking a lot about what makes other people tick. Why are we so consumed with feelings of insecurity?  It is rare that I don’t walk into a room and automatically assess all of the people in it.  Not to put them down, but to make myself feel more comfortable.  I’ll do a quick “she’s skinnier, but my shoes are cuter” and “her teeth are so white and straight, but I have better hair”.

When do we start comparing ourselves to other people?  Why are we so darn critical?  Where do we learn this?  And it’s not just the physical traits we judge. 

Every few months I get a magazine from my alma mater.  I refer to it as my quarterly reminder to feel inadequate.  The back few pages are dedicated to marriages, births, deaths and accomplishments.  The accomplishments get me every time.  Especially when I see that someone younger than me has scaled Everest or invented a life-saving medical device.  I have no desire to do those things, but rather than feel good for the people who do I feel myself regretting not having those desires or even more so, not acting on the desires I do have.

I have a good life, a fantastic husband, a decent job.  I am happy.  Why on earth does something like that bring me down?  Does anyone else do this?

I think the magazine would be a lot more interesting (and less guilt-inducing) if they just took pictures of the inside of someone’s fridge.  I’d even volunteer.  You’ll find the Heinz ketchup right in front.

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