Better Than What?

*NEW ESSAY* & an overnight pancake

Exiting the subway station at First Ave I texted my friend Lindsay, “I’m almost there.” I have a tendency to be early, right on time or 5-10 minutes late. I’m inconsistently all three in the course of a day. As I walk into the restaurant, Lindsay is tucked into a small booth with two old college friends of hers. She saved me a seat on her side of the booth. Her magnetism pulled me right in as we were gesturing, matching each other's energies. The other two were more settled across the table.

One of Lindsays friends was in town for a big fellowship interview, a notable opportunity to live in Europe with other creatives. Lindsay and I (as free-spirited as we are) maintained a jovial uplifting nature in how we carried ourselves. Her friends seemed a bit more skeptical to give up such youthful flow.

The friend in town for the fellowship asked if there was a restaurant called “Tramezzino” selling the namesake Italian specialty. I asked if she was perhaps talking about piadina, which is essentially an Italian wrap. In theory, both tramezzino and piadina are under the umbrella of sandwiches. Lindsay’s friend responded with intellectual dismissal. It’s a type of rejection that's injected with undertones of “I’m not stupid, but you might be.”

I let her have it. Boom. Done. It’s yours sis. I loved how free I was to allow someone else the permission to be right. The saga it took to arrive at this place is still being monitored and course corrected. I think what has helped with my submissiveness is listening to an Eckhart Tolle quote, “do you want peace or do you want to be right?” I choose peace every time.

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The saga I mentioned is about my relationship with myself. There’s a narrative I’ve drafted keeping me safe involving the concept of “better than.” This idea has been embedded in my brain since childhood. Upon being triggered, an old line from my family would emerge, “Oh, you think because you went to college that makes you better than us?” “You want to spend more time with your friends than your family, what are you better than us?”

As I matured into freedom and building a life for myself, the notion of “better than” mutated like a true virus. I used to walk the streets with headphones blaring electronic music featured on the European runways with a strut that said, “don’t fuck with me.” I wanted love so bad, I wanted to go on dates, but I was closed off from the experience. Men would glance at me, and I would barely give them the consideration in return. I’ve committed to this behavior periodically when my mental health is compromised.

My recent “better than” tool has been sobriety. It’s been well over a year since I had my last drink. I don’t partake in smoking or consuming weed either. My social life hasn’t been fractured necessarily, but I am less likely to elongate an evening out. I asked myself, “why did you choose sobriety?” My overall health has been marginally better, there's been less reactivity and an increase in overall joy. I do catch myself in a “holier than thou” state of mind when I witness ways in which people are coping with life. I don’t push a testimonial, I simply draw back and thank myself for opting for a better way of living.

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A couple of years ago I read a lot. Most of my reading was the self-help genre attempting to understand the depths of me. After consuming many case studies and interesting concepts, I’ve implemented an idea or two. Well over two years ago I completed The Artist's Way by Julia Cameron. The comprehensive text actually changed my life. Unfortunately, I still noticed a nagging sensation around feeling “better than.” While working through The Artist's Way source material I was working a full-time job with other artists. At times, we had conflicting ideas and conversations around artistry and creativity. I found myself alone in these situations defending a pearl of wisdom I was attempting to believe.

I have been in and out of therapy for years. I love going with a goal in mind. If you keep it brief and stay on track, there's a higher likelihood you’ll get what you need from the sessions. Initially, I weaponized therapy as a projection of “I’m working on myself, isn’t that wonderful?” I can see it now, all of it in fact. My incessant desire to be “better than” opposed to just being. When I’m unbothered by the judgement, untethered to self-criticism I notice a release. My own intellectual pursuits (including learning Italian) have been their own form of prison. I’ve locked my soul away for far too long. Relearning and reconditioning is similar to undoing a knot of anxiety you’ve mastered to keep yourself safe.

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My realization isn’t as profound as I’m making it out to be. I’ve been aware of this tortured state for a while. There's a twitch when I sense the burden of my own intelligence. When I’m tired I notice how I judge others or how suddenly I’m debilitated with impatience. In the recent season of White Lotus, the audiobook Parker Posey’s daughter was listening to said, “Identity is a prison, a prison no one is spared from.” The synchronicity was staggering considering I was writing this as the episode played.

At my healthiest I’m vibrant and naturally relaxed. The observation of my life becomes less about what I desire and more about what I’m thankful for having experienced. The experiences I’m holding space for aren’t travels or opportunities, rather I’m in awe of the smallest moments of vitality.

What comes to mind are instinctual calls to action. Helping a stranger with no expectation of anything in return. Connecting with a friend on a deeper level when you least expect it. Challenging yourself to step outside of your comfort zone and being proud even if it doesn’t go well. Instead of wallowing in self-pity, gather information to make more informed choices. One of the most radical feelings is when you show yourself true kindness, an act so rare it would actually change the world.

I still feel the sensation of “better than” and I have to mindfully not act upon it. At my best, I don’t look to the left or right in comparison. When I’m most loving is when I’m genuinely happy for others, never factoring envy or dissatisfaction. Which leads me to wonder if this whole essay is just a vanity piece, some proclamation of my own self-indulgence. Next time I’m at dinner, if someone else needs to be the smartest, the funniest, the most charming, go for it. I’ll tell you what, it’s pretty lonely at the top.