Sometimes comparing one thing to another is beneficial. Like when you shop for the best price on a camera, search for the best vacation resort for Spring Break, or try on pair of jeans after pair of jeans to find the pair that makes your backside look bodacious. Several websites are devoted to comparing fares, reviews, destinations, schedules and services and, thanks to my incessant need to make the very best decision in every instance, I rarely make a purchase without consulting a few of my favorites. I'm a fan of 99% of comparisons made in the world. Unless it's a case of me comparing myself to someone else. Then we have a problem.
My wise-beyond-her-years friend Mary, who is so timely with her thought-provoking Facebook statuses as of late, posted a quote today that I can't get out of my head. It said, "Comparison is the thief of joy." Wow. If only I had this in my pocket for a recent dinner with friends when I allowed my joy to be stolen.
When the conversation turned to new adventures and accomplishments everyone had coming in the next few months, rather than share in their excitement, I immediately wallowed in the fact that I had nothing of interest to contribute. No babies being born, no degree programs finished, no new places to live. As I sat there and compared myself to these amazing women, I couldn't find any joy. Not in myself. Not in their excitement. Instead I found more things about which to compare myself. She's skinnier than I am. She's more educated than I am. She's more ambitious. She's more daring. She's more loved.
My ego reared her ugly mug pulling me into the depths of self-loathing and the more I compared myself to my companions, the more ridiculous the comparisons became until I left dinner feeling like a useless piece of you-know-what.
If only I had my trusty new mantra in my pocket. "Comparison is the thief of joy." Right on. So I told my ego to stuff it because while I may not have a shiny new engagement ring or an awesome new job, I have a lot to offer this world!
December 9, 2010
February 9, 2010
Happy Birthday Volleyball
I wonder if Karch Kiraly, Misty May and Kerri Walsh all get together and throw a birthday party on February 9th every year. Well they should, because if it wasn't for the birth of volleyball on February 9th, 1895, they'd be quite out of luck. Volleyball is said to have been born on this day by William Morgan, a YMCA physical education director in Holyoke, MA. Wow. I didn't know they had YMCAs in 1895! Could you get yourself clean? Could you have a good meal? Could you do whatever you feel?
Morgan invented a game called Mintonette, played indoors with any number of players, that was intended to be similar to basketball, but less rough. Apparently for the, uh, less-than-spring-chickens who regularly hung out at the YMCA. The game was a little different back then. There were nine innings and teams did not have a limit as to the number of times they hit the ball before sending it back over the net. That seems odd... I'm seeing a whole lot of people standing around doing nothing until someone decides to give up the ball so the other team can play.
The first country to adopt volleyball outside of the U.S. - Canada. Makes sense. They needed some indoor sports too for the people who didn't like snow sports. (There are others like me - I know it)
Not sure when and where beach volleyball got its start...more on that later. In the meantime, I'm thinking up ways to celebrate the birth of my favorite sport to play. A volleyball shaped cake? Garland made of netting? Candles shaped like knee pads? Wilson party favors? I can't believe the party stores haven't caught on to this. Someone should alert them. Mark your calendars for next year!
Morgan invented a game called Mintonette, played indoors with any number of players, that was intended to be similar to basketball, but less rough. Apparently for the, uh, less-than-spring-chickens who regularly hung out at the YMCA. The game was a little different back then. There were nine innings and teams did not have a limit as to the number of times they hit the ball before sending it back over the net. That seems odd... I'm seeing a whole lot of people standing around doing nothing until someone decides to give up the ball so the other team can play.
The first country to adopt volleyball outside of the U.S. - Canada. Makes sense. They needed some indoor sports too for the people who didn't like snow sports. (There are others like me - I know it)
Not sure when and where beach volleyball got its start...more on that later. In the meantime, I'm thinking up ways to celebrate the birth of my favorite sport to play. A volleyball shaped cake? Garland made of netting? Candles shaped like knee pads? Wilson party favors? I can't believe the party stores haven't caught on to this. Someone should alert them. Mark your calendars for next year!
GaGa for GooGoo
I have an unhealthy internet relationship. I didn't mean for it to happen, it just did. I find myself going back, several times per day, for my fix. I'm a googlaholic. And I don't wanna be cured!
Did you see google's Parisian Love commercial during this year's super bowl? An entire room of rowdy women drinking beer stopped and grew quiet with every google entry that followed the story of an American falling in love with a Parisian while studying abroad. The search covers long distance relationships, flights to Paris, jobs in Paris, churches and wedding invitations until the final entry "how to assemble a crib." And we all melted. Corny? Yes. But we melted just the same.
The irony of it all is that this 50-second ad could be my life! No, I'm not planning to run off to Paris, but I google pretty darn near everything. You know this about me. I just googled "google super bowl ad" to find out the name of the ad and how long the spot is. Google is an invaluable resource and I sincerely don't know how I existed without it before.
Did you see google's Parisian Love commercial during this year's super bowl? An entire room of rowdy women drinking beer stopped and grew quiet with every google entry that followed the story of an American falling in love with a Parisian while studying abroad. The search covers long distance relationships, flights to Paris, jobs in Paris, churches and wedding invitations until the final entry "how to assemble a crib." And we all melted. Corny? Yes. But we melted just the same.
The irony of it all is that this 50-second ad could be my life! No, I'm not planning to run off to Paris, but I google pretty darn near everything. You know this about me. I just googled "google super bowl ad" to find out the name of the ad and how long the spot is. Google is an invaluable resource and I sincerely don't know how I existed without it before.
January 1, 2010
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