The Trap of Comparison

Learning to stay in my own lane.

Comparison has been part of my life for as long as I can remember.

I suppose that's true for most of us.

As children, we compare grades.

As teenagers, we compare friendships, sports, clothes, and accomplishments.

As adults, we compare careers, homes, vacations, families, and sometimes even our happiness.

It seems to be woven into the human experience.

The interesting thing is...

For much of my life, comparison felt healthy.

I grew up in competitive sports.

Swimming was my first love.

I was six years old when I began, and my dad was my coach.

Every summer we packed up towels, goggles, and coolers and traveled from one town to the next for swim meets. Some of my happiest childhood memories were made sitting beside a pool waiting for my next event.

Competition had purpose.

The clock didn't lie.

You either swam faster than you did last week...

Or you didn't.

As I grew older, swimming gave way to track, badminton, and eventually tennis in high school. I continued playing through college on a club team, simply because I loved the game.

Competition became familiar.

Comfortable, even.

It challenged me.

It taught me discipline.

It taught me resilience.

There was something healthy about measuring my progress against a standard that asked me to become better than I had been yesterday.

School was much the same.

I wasn't the student collecting every academic award.

I was average.

But I worked hard.

My dad never asked me to be perfect.

He asked me to do my best.

Sometimes even a little better than I thought I could.

He held the bar high.

When I reached it...

He quietly raised it again.

I understand now that he wasn't teaching me to compete with other people.

He was teaching me to compete with the person I had been yesterday.

Somewhere along the way, though...

The comparison changed.

It quietly slipped out of the swimming pool and into everyday life.

The nicer house.

The newer car.

The neighborhood.

The schools.

As a young mother, I found myself wondering if I was making all the right decisions.

Were my children attending the best schools?

Was I giving them every possible opportunity?

Was I doing enough?

Those questions rarely brought peace.

They usually brought pressure.

Then life did what life often does.

It humbled me.

Today, at sixty-five years old, I find myself beginning again.

This season looks very different.

The comparison trap still exists.

It has simply changed its address.

Now it lives on social media.

It waits inside beautiful photographs of perfectly scored loaves.

It quietly whispers while I watch talented bakers from around the world.

I saw it at Proof Bread.

I see it at farmers markets.

I see it every time another baker creates something beautiful.

The temptation is always the same.

Am I enough?

It is such a subtle question.

It doesn't sound prideful.

It sounds honest.

But I have learned it is rarely helpful.

Because once I begin measuring my worth against someone else's gifts, I have already stepped out of my own lane.

That is where comparison quietly steals joy.

Not because someone else is succeeding.

Because I have stopped noticing my own blessings.

So these days, when I catch myself slipping toward that familiar trap, I pause.

I have learned to interrupt my own thoughts.

Instead of asking whether I measure up...

I choose something different.

"Good for them."

"Those loaves are beautiful."

"They are incredibly talented."

"I'm so happy for them."

Something remarkable happens when I sincerely celebrate another person's success.

Comparison begins to lose its grip.

Gratitude quietly takes its place.

Then, as I have come to do so often, I pray.

Not for more customers.

Not for better bread.

Not for greater recognition.

I simply ask God to keep my heart in alignment.

To remind me that He has never asked me to become someone else.

He has only asked me to faithfully become myself.

That prayer changes everything.

Because the truth is...

There will always be someone baking more loaves.

Scoring more beautifully.

Selling more bread.

Writing better.

Growing faster.

There will also always be someone just beginning.

Comparison doesn't end when we reach a certain milestone.

It simply moves the finish line.

Gratitude, however...

Gratitude allows us to stop running someone else's race.

I think that's one of the greatest gifts sobriety has given me.

A clear lens.

The ability to recognize when my thoughts have wandered somewhere they were never meant to go.

When they do...

I gently bring them home.

Back to gratitude.

Back to prayer.

Back to the work that has been placed in front of me.

Because I have come to believe that comparison doesn't simply distract us.

It takes us out of alignment.

And when I step out of alignment, I stop hearing the quiet voice that has faithfully guided me all along.

So these days...

I stay in my lane.

I bake my bread.

I write my stories.

I celebrate the success of others.

And then I quietly return to the life God has asked me to live.

It turns out...

That has always been more than enough.

Warmly,

Kathy
Art of The Crumb