Comparison in the Time of COVID-19

It’s no secret we live in a culture of unrelenting comparison. In fact, we’ve lived in a culture of comparison since the very first instance of human congregation. Comparison is our way of getting to know one another and ourselves; we compare experiences and stories, languages and traditions, and values and beliefs. Comparison helps us form our nuanced identities, our sense of belonging. It helps us gauge our standing with others or our past and future selves. We even use it as a tool to achieve balance or fairness.

“I walked Jones for only 30 minutes yesterday, so I’d like to walk him for an hour today.”

“Jared cooked last night, so I think I’ll cook tonight.” 

“I ran yesterday, so I think I’ll rest today.”

Now, especially, our opportunities to engage in comparison are nearly immeasurable with tools like Instagram, Facebook, and the internet altogether. When a worldwide pandemic and isolated time at home are inserted into the equation, we might expect this phenomenon to become even more exacerbated.

When I think of the word comparison today, I think of how, day after day, we evaluate our behavior, work, or circumstance against an arbitrary control or scale, in person and via the internet. This happens in small and fleeting moments like those mentioned above. This also happens in not-so-small, more obvious moments that leave us feeling inferior (or sometimes superior) to whomever or whatever we measured ourselves against in the first place. That feeling of inferiority then leaves us wanting to hide, to throw our hands up and walk away from what we initially set out to do. And sometimes, these moments are so striking that a voice somewhere between our sternum and belly button whispers, “Enough. It’s time to stop this.”

I experienced the latter recently, and although I’m still wading through a bit of embarrassment, I’m going to honestly share it with you. 

When quarantine began, Jamie Beck, one of my favorite artists alive, initiated a creative movement called Isolation Creation on Instagram. Jamie committed to creating one piece of art every day while quarantined and invited others to join her. I immediately felt on board with her call to action, and I found myself motivated to create photographs, canning recipes, or short essays on a daily basis. “If Jamie, a full-time artist and mother can do this, I can do this,” I told myself. I, too, wanted to create something every day while quarantined. I set out to match Jamie’s output, and I failed to recognize how this goal would place me on a ship sailing nowhere.

When I quickly learned I could not create something every day in a way that felt natural, I felt comparatively less than and not as _________.

Not as productive. Not as committed. Not as sure of my creative vision.

On top of that, I felt a bit… silly. Why in the world am I comparing myself to Jamie Beck? Jamie Beck!

“Enough. It’s time to stop this.” 

I knew the internal narrative I created was simply untrue; it was founded upon misinterpretation, self-doubt, and disconnection. But, what did I have wrong exactly? Why was I projecting my own negativity onto a long-time role model I normally feel nothing but inspired by? I needed to get to the root of how I was feeling. I only knew my participation in Isolation Creation didn’t feel good, and I refused to let the privilege that is time spent creating begin to feel anything but natural and joyful. I decided to create physical space between myself and Jamie’s work by taking a short break from using Instagram altogether. And, the cycle mentioned above became clear to me all at once.

Comparison leads to a feeling. That feeling is oftentimes one of inferiority. Feeling inferior causes me to hide. I end what I excitedly began.

What I’ve come to realize is this: some forms of comparison are beneficial and exciting, and some forms are unproductive and self-sabotaging. The difference is subtle yet so very important, and it’s essential to choose a kind and compassionate narrative the moment we notice our comparison radar has gone off.

The untrue narrative in my head was, “Jamie is creating one piece of art every day. I cannot do that. I am therefore less productive, less committed, and less sure of my creative vision.” 

In this scenario, I was comparing our output. I was measuring my creative worth in absolute numbers. Can you see the harm in this?

The kind and compassionate narrative in my head is now, “Wow. Wow. Jamie works so incredibly hard. She is committed, steadfast, and tough. How lucky that I am able to witness her creative processes, feel inspired by them, and ask myself what commitment, steadiness, and toughness look like for me personally, today.” 

You see, in this scenario, nothing about reality has changed. My interpretation of it is simply different. Comparing my physical output to another’s physical output will lead me nowhere. Yet, allowing the actions of another to create curiosity within me will ultimately lead me to some really exciting places. And, instead of feeling inferior and like I want to hide, I feel camaraderie, joy, and connection—an unspoken partnership of sorts.

To me, commitment looks like time spent in my studio many, but not all, days. It sounds like a quiet playlist and silenced notifications. It smells like cedarwood in the morning or vetiver in the afternoon. It feels unforced and requited. Some days, it even feels like a long run through the woods without my camera or computer at all.

Steadiness looks a lot like acceptance—accepting photos, recipes, or essays that don’t quite hit the mark. It looks like trying again the next day and freeing myself of yesterday’s miss. 

Toughness looks a lot like practicing photography, canning, and writing when I’m physically tired and when the sun isn’t shining. What might come up anyway? 

When I think about comparison now, the voice somewhere between my sternum and my belly button whispers, “Allow yourself to feel inspired by the commitment of others. What does commitment look like for you personally? And remember, comparing your physical output to another’s physical output will place you on a ship sailing nowhere, and you have so many—so many—places to sail and discover within yourself.” 

Thank you, Jamie, for again being one of my greatest teachers. You not only teach me about photography, but you also teach me about myself, my curiosities, and what creativity looks like for me personally, today.

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