It’s hard. Maybe impossible. But I’m trying to resist the urge to compare myself to others.
I like to imagine it’s like being at one of those silent discos from the early 2000s where everyone is dancing to their own music through headphones. Same room, same party, different pace, different vibes. I was surprised to learn from my niece that is still a thing.
Lately, I’ve been reminding myself: I’m at the same party, connected to the rest of humanity, but the bass and treble are my own.
Don’t compare yourself to others.
Solid advice. But it’s nearly impossible to follow. We’re social animals. Comparison is wired into us. Trying to completely resist it is exhausting. But still, it’s worth trying.
Sometimes I just whisper to myself: Live in your own body.
Your story is different.
Your mind works differently.
Your responses, your energy, your inspiration, they’re all filtered through the reality of being you.
So I try to stay with what is.
To accept the joys and the challenges of this moment.
To trust that my path will unfold in its own way with its own detours, its own pacing, and its own timing.
To counter this, I’ve found curiosity to be a powerful tool.
When the urge to compare arises, I try not to crumple in on myself. I try to look outward with an open-heartedness. A willingness to be nudged into new ways of thinking.
I don’t always get it right. But when I do, something shifts.
Working remotely as a consultant, my days often feel like world-building from a swivel chair. There’s a strange thrill in in shaping something meaningful out of thin air. But it’s also tiring at times.
Some days, I find myself staring at a pixelated face on a screen, trying to imagine the warmth of real connection. The kind that lives in shared rooms, over coffee, with spontaneous laughter.
I move through my days one task at a time, reminding myself that even the mundane parts are bricks in the foundation of a creative life I’m trying to build.
And when I’m tired, connecting with others feels like a reset.
Wondering what music they’re dancing to. Learning how they’ve made sense of things.
It helps me imagine new ways to be. It feeds my thirst for connection and inspiration.
So I keep dancing to my own beat, grateful I’m still at the party.
And some days, that’s more than enough.