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Letting that all-consuming green-eyed monster possess us from time to time is something we’re all guilty of, as much as we may try to deny it. We all want what everyone else has.

Sometimes we can’t help but want to be Beyoncé or David Beckham or Priyanka Chopra or Zoella or the future Mrs Prince Harry or just so-and-so from work/school/Uni who’s life seems so much better than yours.

Pfft what you talking about? Of course I don’t care if Sally from two doors down just won the lottery and is off to spend a month in Barbados with her new toyboy who models for Calvin Klein when he’s not busy building houses for poor people in Africa. I’m more than happy with my £7 an hour job pulling pints down the local and my annual weekend jaunt to Cornwall with my slightly overweight and balding hubby Keith.

Sorry love, but you’re a bare-faced liar and we all know it.

You might be happy with Keith. You might be happy making small talk for tips from the blokes who prop up the bar every night without fail, and the thought of getting your hands on a real Cornish pasty may get you all in a dither, but we all know you wouldn’t mind a bit of what Sally’s getting too. You want Barbados, you want to bathe in a pool of freshly printed £50 notes and you want Pierre the 22-year old underwear model warming up your bed at night.

If you can honestly say you’ve never felt envious of anything or anyone in your life, I’m sorry but you need a DNA test because you’re definitely not from this planet.

Jealousy and wanting what other people is part of what makes us human. It’s natural, it’s normal and it’s okay.


I have a bloody good life right now.

I’m travelling the world, earning money from my bed (technically not my bed, but various hotel beds scattered around India and beyond but yeah, same thing) and having an absolute blast in the process. I’ve lost count of the number of times people have told me they’re jealous of what I’m doing, they wish they could do it, how awesome they think my life is etcetera. And it is awesome. In fact, it’s downright fantastic.

But when I see Facebook updates of people I went to school with getting married or buying a house or getting a puppy or even just going on holiday to Ibiza, I forget that I am literally living out a lot of people’s dream right now, and I just want what they’ve got. Even Ibiza. And honestly? The though of going to Ibiza gives me hives. Yet here I am in one of the most diversely beautiful and interesting countries in the world, a place where many people back home will never get to experience in their life, wishing I was at a trance party in Europe’s party island getting smashed off my face with a bum-bag** around my waist and glittery zebra stripes painted on my face. I don’t even drink. I hate trance music or dance music or whatever the heck it’s called. Glitter hasn’t touched my face since last century. Granted, I do own a bumbag, but it’s a pretty awesome Looney Tunes one I bought at Six Flags Mexico, so not exactly Ibiza appropriate.

All in all, Ibiza is actually my worst nightmare.

So why, when I see that X, Y and Z from the year below me in school drank too much vodka, passed out on the beach and had to have their stomach pumped at the local hospital do I want that too?!

Not Ibiza.

Okay, maybe I’ve gone too far with the Ibiza example now. I don’t actually want my stomach pumped, and I probably don’t even want the destination. What I do want is the fun on the beach with friends, the late nights and early mornings, the sunrises and the sunsets. Too busy scrolling through Instagram with the scowl of all scowls on my face, refusing to actually like anything out of pure spite, I find myself forgetting that I can get all of the above and more here in India. Except the late nights because India be dangerous y’all.

But it’s not just holidays and cars and weddings that have me green-eyed and mad at the world.

Blogging is a big one.

I can’t help but read other blogs and let myself fall into that unavoidable bastard ‘they’re better than me’ hole. I hate that hole. Anyone else hate that hole?!

I find myself getting so unnecessarily envious of stupid things and I’m all like, damn it, this company sent this blogger this lipstick to review. Why can’t they send it to me? Then I remember that I don’t wear lipstick, I don’t review make-up and so any company who sends anything of the sort to me probably need to sack their PR person or whoever’s responsible for scouting out bloggers. Also, I don’t actually want them to send me lipstick. Socks maybe (seriously – someone send me socks? I love me a good pair of socks), but not lipstick.

I see how so-and-so has 123,192,385 subscribers and I want that many subscribers. Except do I really? I think I’d much rather 5 readers who actually read what I write than a billion who follow for the sake of it, or who have that whole follow-for-follow mentality that does my head in. And to be honest, these bloggers probably worked bloody hard for a really freaking long time to get that fan base so they most certainly deserve it a lot more than me and my half-assed posts using recycled and completely irrelevant photos.

Example of an irrelevant picture. You’re welcome.

And then when I’m not comparing myself to other bloggers and drunken party revellers in Ibiza, I want the lives of the people closest to me.

My sister had a baby last month so of course now I need one.

Like, no. Just no.

What is wrong with me?! I really, really don’t want a baby in my life right now – not one of my own anyway. Sure, I’ll borrow someone else’s for a day or two but I wouldn’t want one that I can’t hand back *shudder*. Babies aren’t a very easy travel accessory. I’ve also heard they can be quite expensive, and frankly I’d rather spend my money on KFC veggie burgers.

A few of my close friends have moved/are moving into actual houses with their actual boyfriends.

Actual boyfriends as opposed to imaginary ones? I don’t know why I used actual. Anyway, I want that now. I want to cook steak for someone after a day at work despite the fact I’ve never cooked a steak in my life; I want to buy bedding and cacti and tea towels and plates with fancy patterns on them; I want to be a grown up. But when I stop and think about it, do I actually want any of that? Nah, not really. Not right now.

But it’s okay for me to think I want all of that, even just for a few seconds. It’s okay for us all to want what we don’t have, or to think we want what we don’t have when we actually don’t want anything of the sort. Go on, try and say that last sentence out loud.

To a certain extent, envy and jealousy is good for us.

Without it, why would we ever want to improve ourselves? We can all say that we want that promotion or we want the high paying job or the nice house and fancy car and good-looking husband for ourselves, but there is always that tiny little part in each and every one of us that want success so that when we compare ourselves with others (because we all do it), we feel good. So that we get that satisfying feeling of self-satisfaction (another tongue twister for you there) when we know there’s someone out there that look at us and think damn, she’s cool, I want her life.

Basically what I’m trying to say is it’s okay to feel envious of others. Because when you eventually manage to exorcise that pesky green-eyed devil,  you find yourself happier than ever with what you’ve got and where your life’s going.

And that concludes today’s episode of Life Lessons hosted by me, a person who has no idea what she’s actually doing with her life.

** For any lovely Americanos out there, bum-bag = fanny pack. Professional translator in da house.

So yeah, you probably read this post thinking what the hell do these photos have to do with anything? They don’t. My phone wire is just still being a bit of a dick and I like pretty pictures. They’re all snapshots from Caye Ambergis in Belize and if you’re a fan, feel free to follow me on Instagram for more.