“Comparison is the death of joy.” – Mark Twain
I hate to admit it, but one of my worst habits is comparing myself to other writers…usually when I’m in the throes of fearing that I’m not good enough at what I do. Of course, this is wildly unproductive, and I know it. Constant comparison is a recipe for allowing the unholy trinity of Fear, Resistance and Doubt to barge into my psyche and send me scurrying off to Procrastionationville.
But worst of all, it takes all the fun out of writing.
I don’t have human children. But if I had chosen that path, I would’ve wished for one just like my friend Amy’s daughter, Audrey. She’s intelligent, sweet, hilarious, creative and can rock a pair of glasses like a mini Tina Fey. And she adores the many four legged beasts that rule our household, so bonus kid points right there.
So when Amy told me that Audrey was singled out by a girl named Kale who whose sole mission was to turn the entire third grade against her, my heart sank. In spite of Audrey’s best efforts to reach out, no one would break ranks and dare to be her friend. And in typical mean girl fashion, everything from her hairstyle and clothes to her name was subject to ridicule. (Note to self: a chick named after a cruciferous vegetable is critiquing the name Audrey?)