Yeah, about once a month I get deep into it. I'm not as pretty as... I'm not as fit as... I am so unburdened with talent. I practically don't exist at all. Thank you womanhood. I don't know how I'd stay humble or manipulated by self-doubt if you didn't exist.
It's hard. I think some people have a tendency to compare themselves to others. While others have a tendency to be the ones we compare ourselves to. Sure, I know I'm comparing my worst to their best, or something like that. But it really doesn't make any difference at 2am when I have insomnia and some girl takes rad-er photos, writes more vibrant posts, lives lovelier, styles herself in more than 2 pair of black yoga pants...well, you get it. Blogs are inspiring. And at the same time, at least I can leave a party if I start coveting someones ability to perform magic. A blog though, it never goes away. It's still gonna be there with another post about how their accomplishments are like 40 gazillion times more amazing than mine.
But you know what gives me hope? The baby monitor is on and every once in a while my little Clementine, 47 paces away from my bed - sleeping in her own crib in her own room, she stirs. I hear her soft sighs and the rustling of her body as she wiggles around to get comfortable, and I'm liberated from my head, from *her blog, from my general suckiness. Yes, my ass is bigger than hers. And my blog will never be relevant or rock like hers. And OH MY HELL I'm 40 and she's like, what, 23? But I'm the only one lucky enough to have Clementine.
*her is basically anyone that I'm not. I'm not referring to any her in particular. But her knows who her is.