Go Compare! (By Which I Mean, Don’t Compare)

My apologies to anyone reading this blog, particularly early in the morning. I have given you an earworm. If it’s any consolation, I’ve given myself one too.

Sometimes I sit gazing at a blank screen for ages trying to think of a good first paragraph (or indeed any first paragraph), other times it simply drops into my head. So here I am, late in the afternoon on the 6^th, writing my MTW blog and looking out of the window at the weeds, the rampant nettles and the long grass. I really should be out there with the lawnmower, but, dear reader, my first duty is to you, so it can wait. 

I’ve spent most of my life comparing myself to others and coming off pretty badly. In primary school, I’d watch my classmates playing netball without ever having the teacher shout at them (“Stand still, Ruth! You can’t run while you’ve got possession!”) sail over the vaulting horse and get ten out of ten on their maths questions. I was resolutely unsporty and could barely count to ten (this is still the case). 

I carried on comparing myself throughout my life. I was always too tall, too quiet, too loud, too everything really. I hadn’t been a member of ACW for very long when someone used the phrase, “Comparison is the thief of joy.” And how right they are. It is. 

Three years ago, our eldest was doing his GCSEs. He had what you might call a relaxed attitude to learning and as Results Day loomed, we had the following conversation. 

Him: “Look, Mum, don’t get your hopes up. I’ve probably failed them all.”

Me: (bracingly) “Nonsense! I’m sure you’ve done much better than you think.”

Him: “I haven’t. Honestly. I’ll be lucky to get anything.”

On a hot August day, we drove to his school and I was instructed to stay in the car and wait until he came out. Every so often, the quiet summer morn would be rent asunder by the excited cries of a fellow parent. 

“12 A*s? Well DONE darling! Cambridge here we come.” 

He appeared clutching his piece of paper and confirmed that his prediction was correct. He was the proud possessor of 2 GCSEs. I cried most heartily all the way home while he tried to reassure me that his life was not over. He was right, too. As predicted (by him), the college in Ipswich took him and he is now two years into his Music course and loving every second. He’s an accomplished drummer, has a lovely girlfriend and a large circle of friends and has managed to pick up his Maths and English GCSEs along the way. 

Our second son is the complete opposite. Were you to meet them, you’d never think they were brothers. One is tall and muscly with flaming red curly hair and blue eyes; the other tall and lanky with brown hair and green eyes. Son Two is a studious chap, well-organised and good at everything. He has been coasting along at school but recently changed up a gear or two and is revising every night. A couple of weeks ago, we had the following conversation: 

Him: “Here’s my revision schedule. I’ve used coloured highlighter pens to work out my timetable. Thanks for getting me those revision booklets. They’re really useful.”

Me: “Well done! That’s great. Is there anything I can do to help?”

Him: “No, it’s OK. I’ve made myself flash cards for every subject.” 

I had to fan myself at this point and take some deep breaths. The thought of any child of mine making himself a set of flash cards was almost too much to bear. The plan is to get into Sixth Form and thence to university to study psychology. Goodness only knows what our daughter will be doing in three years’ time, but you could be reading about it here. 

I could compare my sons to each other. But that would be incredibly disrespectful to both of them. They’re wonderful in their own right. I’ve loved watching the eldest blossom, conquer his nerves and go up on stage and deliver a fantastic set of perfectly played songs. The younger and I share a love of literature and wordplay (he feels about music as I do about raw tomatoes) and frequently have long, rambling philosophical conversations. 

If parenting two such different people has taught me anything, it’s that comparison is a pointless occupation. I often look at fellow ACW members and long to be more like them, comparing their writing and marketing and achievements to my own and coming off worse. But I really, really need to stop doing that. God created me and you just as we are, for a reason, just as He gave me two sons with a completely different set of skills and talents. 

You might write memoir, or poetry, or novels, or flash fiction. That’s your gift and God’s got a plan for you, just as He does for me, although I might not always think so.

Lastminute.com versus flash cards 

College versus university 

It doesn’t matter. 

“For we are God’s handiwork, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do.” (Ephesians 2:10)

Images by Pixabay

Ruth is a novelist and freelance writer. She is married with three children, one husband, assorted poultry and a cat. She is the author of “The Diary of Isabella M Smugge”, “The Trials of Isabella M Smugge” and is currently writing “The Continued Times of Isabella M Smugge”. She writes for a number of small businesses and charities, reviews books for Reading Between the Lines and blogs at ruthleighwrites.co.uk. Ruth has abnormally narrow sinuses and a morbid fear of raw tomatoes, but has decided not to let this get in the way of a meaningful life. You can find her on Instagram, Facebook, Twitter and TikTok at @ruthleighwrites and at her website, www.ruthleighwrites.co.uk.