DISCLAIMER: All of my posts are going to be for the previous day's saint. I write these blogs at the end of the day, so there's going to be about a 24-hour lag time.
This post is not easy to write. I don't like admitting my weaknesses and failings. But, when I decided to do this blog, I told myself I would have to be completely truthful and utterly transparent, no matter how embarassing or painful.
One of my greatest downfalls is jealousy. I find myself constantly (and childishly) questioning the good luck of people. For example, my wife and I are in the process of trying to sell our home. We live in a two-bedroom, one-bathroom house that's over a century old. The place has served us well, but with the addition of a little boy to our family about sixteen months ago, we are facing the eventuality that our nine-year-old daughter is not going to want to share her bedroom with a sibling who has a penis. So, last December, we contacted a real estate agent. Our house has been on the market for over two-and-a-half months. We've had quite a few people walk through our abode, but we have as yet to receive an offer.
This week, a coworker listed her house for sale on Friday. She and her husband are in much the same situation as my wife and me. Having just acquired another daughter in November, they have outgrown their current house. They want an upgrade. In the days leading up to Friday, they've packed, decluttered, cleaned, retiled, and patched. As they readied their home, I kept saying encouraging things like "you won't get any offers for a while" and "remember, it's a buyers' market, not a sellers' market." Secretly, I was looking forward to having someone to commiserate with over the shitty real estate situation in the area.
Yesterday morning, my coworker had the first showing of her home, which is listed, I might add, for over twice the price of my home. Near noon, my coworker's cell phone rang. Here it comes, I thought, the big let-down. (I remember the first time our house was shown and the pall of disappointment that sat on me like a ratty mink coat for days when no offer was forthcoming.) She answered the phone, said "uh-huh" a couple of times, "you're kidding" a couple of times, and ended with "Okay, thanks." She hung up, looked at me, and said, "We got an offer on the house."
"That's great," I said, smiling. You've got to be fucking kidding me, I was thinking. The old green monster crawled out of the cave of my chest and started whispering in my ear: She hasn't worked hard enough. She should have to struggle for at least a few months. What did she do to deserve this? Sonofabitch. Now, let me say that I really love my coworker. She's a good, supportive friend who has always been kind and generous toward me. So I'm not proud of this flaw in my personality. In the past, I've been jealous over some pretty ridiculous things and people, including J. K. Rowling, Wally Lamb, any poem or poet in the New Yorker, PT Cruisers, laptop computers, students who write really well, anyone who wins the Nobel Prize in Literature, pregnant couples, teenagers walking down the street hand-in-hand, and houses that have more than one bathroom, which brings me back to Friday and my coworker--
"That means you've only got about a month to find a new house," I said, trying my hardest to smile and rain on her parade at the same time.
She shrugged and smiled. "Oh, well."
Let it be known that I have no idea at this time how much the offer on her house was or whether she and her husband accepted the offer. Let it also be known that my coworker has just come back to work after having a baby and then suffering a seriously broken bone a month later (she has the pins and plates in her foot to prove it). She deserves some good fortune. That being said, I'm still having trouble stifling my jealous nature.
And today's feast saint, Tyrannio, ain't offering me much in the way of guidance or help. He's one of those early bishops who was surrounded by martyrs. He witnessed a group of Christians face down a pack of wild animals (think lions and tigers and bears, oh my) before being slaughtered with swords. Later, Tyrannio himself was arrested, tortured, and drowned for being a Christian. I was sort of hoping for the patron saint of real estate today, and I'm stuck with a man who makes my problems seem about as significant as a shortage of suntan lotion at a nude beach.
So, I guess I'm on my own to deal with my wild jealousy. I know I'll be able to force it back into its cage and lock the door eventually. I won't be able to kill it; I'll just throw it some raw hamburger and make sure it's got enough water to keep it quiet for the time being. And I will be happy for my coworker, geniunely happy, if her house sells. I will. I just need perspective. I'm not being stretched on the rack or thrown into a river with a boulder chained around my neck. I'm living in a house that 95% of people in the developing world would consider luxurious. I'm lucky. So what if I have to wait in line to use the toilet? I'm a lucky man.
I just have to keep reminding myself of that.
I'm lucky...I'm lucky...I'm lucky...I'm lucky...If you want to own my two-bedroom, one-bathroom, detached-garage piece of luck, make me an offer.
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