COMPARISON
Discovering that neither ‘stuff’ nor success were a gateway to greater happiness helped author Amanda Prowse quieten the voice of comparison
‘The grass is always greener…’ is a phrase that has rung true for most of us at some point in our lives. Not so much raw jealousy or a seething desire to have what others have, but a milder mental itch; the idea that we want to keep up with those around us, or that others have it easier or better than we do. I know I’ve been guilty of this at times in my life and, chatting to my friends, it seems I’m not alone.
As a child, I remember thinking that my family were much the same as any other – until I went inside the homes of my friends as a teenager. It was the first time I had been exposed to another family’s life and habits, and I was fascinated to find that they did things differently to us.
You can eat your tea on your lap? What a wonderful idea! Your mum doesn’t dance around the kitchen with her knickers on her head? Is she okay? You have carpet on your stairs? How fancy! A cupboard just for crisps and biscuits? What kind of snack heaven is this?
It also set in motion a desire to be ‘just like’ them. I’d make suggestions to my parents: ‘Why don’t we go to Mallorca this year instead of Devon, or, even better, on a cruise?’ and they’d exchange a lingering look and explain that we didn’t have the money. Apparently, it wasn’t a straight swap: our week in a leaky caravan, eating chips on the sea wall and playing Uno around the coffee table, for an all-inclusive jaunt around the Caribbean.
I was more than a little envious when my friends pitched up at school with souvenirs from far-flung places, while I had a pencil with my name on it, bought from the campsite gift shop with my saved pennies. I guess this was the first time I became aware that money, and the lack of it, meant your choices were limited.
Aged ten, did I want to swap my crazy, big old family who moved in a pack and turned even the quietest country campsite into an East End knees-up? Yes. Yes, I did. I’d have traded them for a ticket tothethe high life quicker than you could say, ‘Disneyland, anyone?’
And that feeling didn’t fade in my teenage years. If anything, the sense that I was lagging behind only intensified. I wanted to know what it felt like to live that life, the one just out of reach. I wanted spare bedrooms. I wanted a state-of-the-art kitchen with a well-stocked fridge. I wanted money in the bank so I could go to a fabulous hairdresser in a fabulous salon who would make me look fabulous. Part of the joy would be in telling everyone about the experience, and that would make me feel… well, fabulous. Wouldn’t it?
I lived like this throughout my teens
