Posts tagged with "jealousy"

There’s someone I want you to meet.

He’s a great guy who looks particularly nice in a skinny tie. His deep, smokey eyes seem to slay every woman he meets, and even the ones he hasn’t yet. There’s a strapping masculinity that you like, carried in the angles of his face, but a gentle smile reveals his true personality.

He’s intelligent enough to challenge that mind of yours, but so down-to-earth that you’d never feel inadequate. He’s constantly creative and a musical genius, and I know you’d appreciate his work as much as he’d appreciate yours, even if they’re in different mediums. He can let loose and have a great time, but he’s responsible enough to know when to stop. He’s confident, but modest. Funny without being crude or clownish. Thoughtful and kind. Generous with his time, his thoughts, his possessions, and his life. He’s the total package, but most important of all, I know he’d make you happy.

And while I’ve always been unbearably jealous when I think of you with anyone else (and maybe I chose him cause I like to think he reminds me of myself), he’s the only guy I wouldn’t mind you being with if it can’t be me, cause it would be such a waste otherwise.

Jealous Jeffrey

It’s the first day we haven’t talked, something neither of us expected until some time next month. I think an ounce of Jäger will serve as company instead, and maybe a digestif for the healthy salmon (who must have swam 100000km before being caught) that was thanked for dinner. It burns the stomach and the throat, but doesn’t keep me warm.

Sometimes, she teases by calling me Jealous Jeffrey. It’s likely she’s gone to bed cause she has to get up early tomorrow, fallen asleep after a pilsner she grabbed from work. But the mind wanders, and I think of her at a Sigma Nu party, being hit on by some frat boy with a popped collar and a striped wristband around his forearm.

I never worry though, not cause I know she’s mine, but because she does.

Jealousy As Insecurity As Love

Hey Pat,

I don’t know how serious you thought I was about being the best man or MC if you ever get married. I know it may sound crazy, but you getting married is as important to me as it is to you. I love you, and I know I don’t tell you that enough. You are a true friend to me, and you know that I don’t have many.

I see this as a great opportunity to do something for you, because you’ve already done so much for me. Let me take on the responsibility and support you, to be there for you on one of the most important days of your life. I easily put aside the differences I’ve had with any potential people you may invite (I think that we’re smart enough to be open and discuss this), because it’s about you, not me.

These things are usually planned pretty well in advance though, so I won’t be surprised if you have someone else in mind. I understand that we’re talking about YOUR big day, so you should have the people YOU want involved in YOUR wedding. To be honest, I’ll be happy with whatever decision you make, because I’m happy if you’re happy. Bottom line.

In any case, let me know when you pop the question, and WE WILL FEAST.


I wrote this two years ago.

Pat proposed to Jen a couple of months later. Several months after that, they bought a house, delaying the wedding until this year.

Last week, Pat asked me to be a groomsman and co-MC.

When I found out that Jason would be best man (as well as the other MC) there was a tinge of jealousy in my heart, followed by an overwhelming sense of guilt about this jealousy.

To feel this way was a bit of a surprise. Jealously has never been one of my prominent emotions. It made me realize that I’m a little insecure in my relationship with Pat. There’s so much good in him, compared to the hatred, darkness, and weakness in me. He’s not my opposite, but he’s the person I’m constantly striving to become. Just being around him makes me feel elated and relaxed.

The frustrating thing is that I know it’s his wedding. He should be able to do whatever he wants. There’s no rivalry between Jason and me. As studier of people, I have every bit of faith in Pat’s decision. The logic has finally kicked in, and I feel a sense of warmth and security about being up there with Pat, a group exclusive to a handful of people out of a seemingly endless number.

It’s only now that I realize how selfish and inappropriate it was of me to ask. Running around, making sure everyone is having a good time, giving toasts, hosting games, the duty of MC isn’t even something I normally want to do. I only asked because it was a way that I could show how much Pat has done for me, a responsibility I’d take on gladly.

I’m scared that I made him feel obliged, and I’m ashamed of being jealous for that split-second.

Maybe that’s what love is.

Unfounded insecurity. Jealousy without reason.

A feeling that overwhelms logic.

My Average Life

You ever read any Nietzsche?

Nietzsche says there are two kinds of people in the world. People who are destined for greatness, like Walt Disney, and Hitler. And then there’s the rest of us. He called us “The bungled and the botched”.

We get teased. We sometimes get close to greatness, but we never get there.

We’re the expendable masses.

—Jack Lucas, The Fisher King

When I listen to this song, a post-hardcore blend of catchy, melodic guitar lines and technical screaming, a feeling washes over me. I recognize it immediately.


It’s the other, other, Jeff’s band, and he fits the eccentric rockstar persona to a tee. His clothes are all tight-fitting, thrift-store finds and Sally Ann recyclables. Even his frames are a modernized version of the old-school bad-boy sunglasses. An unassuming type until you talk to him about his music, and then he’s a galvanized, animated person. He spends his money on studio hours, and his free-time laying down tracks, mixing songs, jam sessions. I don’t even know the name of his band.

I do know that this song is a huge improvement over the material he gave me a month ago. The structure is less experimental, the sound is more polished. The result of a new drummer, and redone vocals. Jeff’s goal is to get his name out there, win a recording contract, and spend the rest of his life making music. I can already tell that he’ll catch the attention of the right person at the right time.

The envy burns a hole in my chest.

Knowing that this young man, in his mid-20s, is going somewhere, is what fuels it. He has the ambition, the ability, the mindset to achieve greatness, while I remain one of the many.

If I had the time, the money, the ambition, I’d do the same. I’d be a director. A photographer. Things I think I’d be great at. Instead, I simply use video and photography to document my life, as an extra form of expression over the written word. As a result, my desire to improve is solely driven by my perfectionist attitude, not a desire to be great or to make money. I understand that to become one of the few is an investment of one’s entire life, and the risks of doing so are severe. Too severe.

It’s my choice to live like this: risk-free and secure. It’s a part of my personality. I invest in government bonds over stock. I’m a 9-to-5 guy, who doesn’t like going out on weekdays, whose primary goal is to pay off the mortgage before I retire. My greatness is a steady paycheque, a cat who jumps on my lap, and eight full hours of sleep. I enjoy the simple things, and satisfaction with what I have.

And I realize that not knowing the name of Jeff’s band is a subconscious choice I make. That way, there’s less chance I’ll learn of his success when I’m reading the paper.

Less chance I’ll be reminded of how average my life is.

Jealousy Trap

If this entry deserved a title, it would be “Really Really Really”.

Pat talks about how jealous Jen gets sometimes, and describes it as a heat emanating from her body, like a mild sun on the face that he can feel from across the room. We joke, we laugh, a good time is had by all.

Then I remember myself feeling that once, just once, on a day when she was insecure and someone else was talking to me a little too ebulliently. The look. THE LOOK she gave her, like a mother bear staring down someone who got between her and her cubs.

And I remember not liking that feeling, as if I was the one who had to apologize for something, when I had done nothing wrong at all.

But I think to myself, now, how I wouldn’t mind feeling that way just one more time.