Comparisons

My family and I live in an older home.  It’s nowhere near old enough to be historic or lovely and antiquey, but it’s definitely old enough to be outdated.   It’s not as spacious or well-decorated as I would like and our list of home improvement projects is long.  

That being said, I am generally quite content with our home.  It feels cozy to me.  I love how I can make dinner in the kitchen while watching my children play in the living room.  I love how living in it kind of feels like living in a tree house.

I usually feel quite content with our home, and very grateful for it.  That is, until I visit the much nicer home of a friend.  Until I visit my sister and once again see how new and fresh everything looks.  I begin the comparison game, and my tree house never wins.

It’s like that with so very many things.  We feel happy with our financial situation until we compare ourselves to someone who is doing better, to someone who has more.  Our car is just fine until it is parked next to a nicer one.  We feel like good parents or good partners until we see someone who is doing more and doing it better.

I’ve heard it said that comparison is the thief of joy.  We begin comparing and our joy slips right through our fingers.  The comparison game has two potential outcomes.  We compare ourselves to someone else and feel that we come out ahead.  We have better hair, a better figure, or our children are better behaved.  We win!  And yet, we still lose.  The act of comparison shrinks us, makes us smaller, meaner, and less gracious human beings.  It takes us away from relationships, away from kindness and generosity of spirit.  It steals our joy.

Or, we compare ourselves to others and feel that we come out behind.  The success or good fortune of someone else leaves us feeling like our lives are lacking.  We compare and we lose.  And we are left with dissatisfaction, discontentment, and unhappiness.  Once again, the act of comparison shrinks us and steals our joy.

It is hard to avoid the comparison game.  We all play it, and the more we engage in comparison, the more difficult it becomes to stop comparing.  We compare and lose and desperately seek a comparison where we come out ahead.  Or we compare and win and seek out the same short-lived high again.  And the more comparisons we make, the more dissatisfied we feel with our lives and with ourselves, and the less joy we feel.

If comparison is the thief of joy, than I believe that gratitude is the bearer of joy.  It is impossible to experience true gratitude without experiencing joy.  Gratitude is an exercise that can flood joy into our hearts and into our lives.  Being grateful for what we have, grateful for what we have been given, and grateful for the life we are living helps us to stop comparing.  It redirects our focus from what we do not have and onto what we have.  It opens the doors and windows wide so that joy can rush in.  The more that we say “thank you,” the more that we acknowledge the gifts and blessings present in each day, the more joy we experience.

Comparison steals joy.  Gratitude bears joy.  Choose gratitude.

In Praise of Single Tasking

The other day I was making dinner. While talking on the phone. While wearing my daughter in the Baby Bjorn. While supervising my son as he played in the sink. While listening to music. While making a grocery list for our shopping trip the next day. It was a little chaotic.

My little man was getting impatient for some attention. I bent over to pick up a cup he had dropped, and he put his pudgy little hands on my cheeks, “Mama, do this! No more!” He’d had enough of my multitasking, and was asking (demanding) my full attention.


I’ll be honest, I’m pretty darn good at multitasking. Most of us are. We pride ourselves on how much we can do at once. We watch TV while folding laundry, we work out while listening to an online sermon. We check our e-mail on our phone while we wait in line at the dry cleaner. We make our phone calls while we drive to work. We are always busy, always doing at least three things at one time. We are productive, even in our “downtime.”


There is a degree to which this multitasking is necessary and highly beneficial. It allows us to cross multiple items off of our To Do lists at one time. It can make an obligatory task enjoyable. We save a great deal of time by multitasking.


But I have been wondering about the cost of multitasking. I want to live in a way that is wholehearted, fully–present and fully-engaged. Is it possible to be fully present when your attention and resources are divided three ways? Or do you end up being just sort of present for each task and interaction?

We have become so accustomed to being split and divided, to doing several things at one time, that we feel profoundly uncomfortable when all the pulling and splitting stops. We don’t really know how to stop, how to focus on one task or activity. Our natural reaction to this discomfort seems to be either to shut off completely (usually by falling asleep) or to dial it up and add more activity and stimulation.

I believe that the answer may be found in the opposite, completely unnatural, reaction.


Stop. Stay in that uncomfortable place. Do one thing. Just one thing at a time. Just listen to music. Just do the dishes. Just have a focused and undistracted conversation. Just eat dinner. Turn off the radio, the TV, the computer, and the phone. Single task. And single task with all you’ve got. If you are playing with your child, just play. Don’t play while you text, don’t play while you balance your checkbook, just play. If you are reading, just read. If you are watching a movie, just watch. If you are talking on the phone, just talk. If you are going on a walk, just walk.


Be fully present for whatever task or activity that you are engaged in. In our busy and demanding lives, it may feel strange and uncomfortable. But the practice of single tasking can be incredibly rewarding and energizing. It can allow you to be fully present for the activity of the moment, drawing all of the richness of the experience. It can allow you to tune into your thoughts and feelings in a way that is not possible when you are split between tasks and experiences. I believe that single tasking can open us up to peace, calm, and stillness in a way that our busy lives often prevent us from.


For just a little bit, do this. And nothing more.

Both/And

It’s been over three months since my husband, son, and I welcomed our new little one into our family. As predicted, the last months have flown by, a blur of days, nights, feedings, diapers, snuggles, smiles, and tears. I have done my best to hold tight to this time, to savor and delight in the precious moments that so easily get lost.

And there have been many precious moments. Watching my two-year-old cover his baby sister’s head with tender kisses. Seeing my daughter smile at me and marveling at her amazingly long eyelashes. Learning new places in my son’s heart as his independence and verbal ability expand daily. The incredibly early weekend mornings where we all ended up piled in one bed, snoozing and snuggling.

And there have been many difficult moments too. Hearing my daughter scream and not being able to soothe her. Watching temper tantrums and fits escalate and hearing “I do it SELF!” a million times a day. Nearly sleepless nights and painfully early mornings.

The truth is that it has been wonderful. And it has been incredibly hard. It has been good and it has been challenging. And I’ve realized how difficult it can be to talk about times like this, times that are amazing and beautiful and totally overwhelming and horrid, all at the same time.

It’s not only parenting that is like this. Think about marriage, where there is joy and intimacy and adventure, and all the ugliness that can come with sharing life with someone else. Think about the sadness and tenderness at the funeral of a dearly loved family member, who died after a long life lived well. Think about a move, with all the painful goodbyes and loneliness right next to the hope and excitement of new beginnings. Much of life involves joy and hardship sitting side by side.

There is very, very little in life that is all positive or all negative, all easy or all hard, all happy or all sad. Life is complex, and our emotional reactions to life are incredibly complicated. We experience life in a variety of colors and a multitude of shades.

But for some reason, when we talk about life, we paint in broad strokes. We say that everything is good, happy, and wonderful. Or we say that everything is bad, sad, and terrible. We say that we love a new stage or hate a new job. And there may be moments where we do love that stage and do hate that job. But, most of the time, there are parts of the stage we love and parts that we find challenging. There are things about the job that excite us and things that we are very unhappy with. It’s so rarely simple, but we often communicate as though it is.

I challenge you to recognize the complexities of your feelings. Hold the happiness and the sadness and the tenderness and fear all at once. There is great benefit in recognizing and naming your emotions. When you acknowledge what is there, you can decide what to do with it, and choose how to care for your complex emotions.

I also challenge you to tell the truth about the complexities of your feelings. In many situations, it is appropriate to say, “Things are good,” and leave it at that. Much of the time, it is appropriate to paint your experience with broad strokes. But there need to be some people with whom you share the full story, the various shades and colors of your emotional experience.

There need to be people in the world who tell the truth: that life is wonderful and life is hard, life is beautiful and life can be terrible, and sometimes it is all of these things at once.

I have been so encouraged and blessed by those who have had the courage to share their full story with me. By the friends who talk openly about joy living next to sadness and anger. By the people who acknowledge that even the very best parts of life often involve some pain. By the people who can say that things are both good and hard, and one does not negate the other.