It was a few weeks before Christmas. I was driving through the section of the South End lined with beautiful brownstones, and I was feeling jealous.
The folks who park their cars on these tree-lined streets have money, and bay windows out over picturesque patches of grass, and in those windows they put grand Christmas trees perfectly speckled with twinkling lights. I am jealous of all of those things.
In my mind, those things come with comfort and ease. They come with options. I have a smidgen of those things, but I am not satisfied. I want more.
As I drove, searching for a parking space to meet a friend at a bar where I was sure I wouldn’t fit in, I rested my head back on the head rest and took in this big scene of all the things I’ll never have.
Maybe, it occurred to me, the mysterious someones enjoying their lives under those high ceilings should be envious of me. I have things they’ll never have. I have my mother, who promised her children that they could make their own decisions about their lives. I have my father, whose high expectations were always an encouragement and never a burden. I have my baby brother, who has been a head taller than me for long enough that I should stop calling him a baby, and who has always been a delight.
I have my friends who love me even when I don’t deserve it. I have my boyfriend who amuses me and is patient with me and supports me. I have astounding amounts of passion in my life, and if those passions have not turned into lucre, so be it.
For their sake, I hope that the residents of that street are as happy as I imagine them. I’ll try not to be jealous anymore, though I doubt I’ll be successful. May I always remember there are things that I have no one else has, brighter than bay windows and more perfect than parking spaces.
What are the things that only you have?