I recently had quite the epiphany of sorts. And I have that most vexing of emotions—jealousy—to thank for it.

I think I'm generally pretty good at spotting a people who are unique and of tremendous quality—the kind of people you have the fortune of meeting only a few times in your entire life. When I meet such people, not only do I develop a strong fondness for them, but I also try hard to keep them in my life. As of late, I've met and developed a strong affection for just such a person. But a difficult situation has arisen; I think that this person doesn't like me as much as I like him/her.

Perhaps it's my high expectations of people; perhaps it's remnants of my childhood paranoias; perhaps it's just a case of misunderstanding people or relationships. But whatever the case may be, I certainly feel as though the level of liking in this relationship is unequal. Perhaps I am wrong about this and this person likes me more than I think, but whatever the reality of actual situation, the reality of my own feelings (however delusional) cannot be denied. As a result of this, I've started feeling quite jealous whenever I see this person spend time with others—people s/he seems to like more than me and who have the fortune of having made a deeper (or at least more intimate) connection with this person than I think I will ever be able to make.

What's the flavour of my jealousy? Well, it particularly pains me when I consider the kind of people this person seems to prefer: 1. people who, for all intents and purposes, have many of the personal attributes I have but who happen to be more physically attractive (and, hence, are on some level perceived to be "better" than me); 2. people who, for all intents and purposes, lack many of the personal qualities I have but are able to make up for them with their physical attractiveness. When I think of this person sharing his/her private time with these other friends—when I think of this person letting these people into his/her life—I cannot help but feel excluded. In fact, I cannot help but feel misunderstood, and even wronged; misunderstood because my relative lack of physical attractiveness makes all my other personal qualities seem either non-existent or even bad; wronged for being judged as inferior to these other people (and inferior I am, because when this person wants to spend his/her time with others, I am often number two on the list—or not even on the list at all).

The specific reasons for my jealousy and feelings of being wronged are a topic for another discussion. What is pertinent in terms of this diary is the epiphany I had when I was experiencing a particularly acute and heart-wrenching moment of resentment. When I was at this person's apartment, I found myself repeatedly making snide and derogatory comments about his/her friends. Because I'm a psychology student, I'm sure it comes as little surprise that one of the things I did was express my "educated opinion" that these friends have "psychological disturbances" of one type or another. On one level, I'm sure I talked about mental health issues from a general, academic point of view. But really, underneath the surface, the purpose of making these comments was to make this person feel bad about who s/he was befriending—and, in some way, to make him/her feel guilty for not liking me more (the implication being that I was of "better" mental health than these people...something that this journal entry clearly undermines). My goal in all of this—at the deepest unconscious level—was to use whatever childish tactics I could to try to make this person like me more. The end result was that I was mean to this person—and behaved in a way that is surely unbefitting of the kind of friend I profess to be.

Anyway, this person pulled me on my behaviour. S/he told me that I was acting this way because I was jealous—and that I should turn this emotion off because it was destructive. Fortunately for me, I'm at the point in my life when I can pretty much admit to someone why I am doing something—when I can tell them, "Yes, I am doing this because I really like you and I'm jealous." I did that in this case. However, I disagreed with this person that I should somehow stifle my jealousy. I'm not an advocate of this, because I believe that feelings are a natural part of who we are; they give us a tremendous amount of information about the world and about ourselves and, as such, they must be listened to (see my entries on Carl Rogers for more background on this). It's only when we act out on our feelings that they become problematic; by themselves, feelings are not bad. It's OK that I was jealous of this person's other friends, but it wasn't OK that I acted out on this jealousy and behaved like a jerk. This person disagreed with me, and asked how anything positive could possibly come out of seemingly negative emotions like jealousy. Feeling sad, angry, defeated—and more jealous and wronged than ever before—I went home sulking (a habit which I've generally abandoned but which still haunts me when I'm feeling really upset).

Then the epiphany occurred.

OK, I said to myself. I'm allowed to feel what I feel. And right now, I feel jealous. What is this feeling telling me? To answer this, I had to think about the different components of jealousy. Yes, for a second I turned to a dictionary (even though right now I can't remember which one). "Jealousy: Indignation or ill will felt as a result of a real or imagined grievance". The definition sounded just about right. And it touched on a key idea that was astutely pointed out to me by the person I like. When we were having a brief discussion on the topic (just before I went home sulking), I was reminded of the difference between jealousy and envy. Both emotions, said this person, involve feelings of wanting something that the other person has or has achieved; jealousy, however, involves the added dimension of feeling resentment. Indeed, as a result of "a real or imagined grievance", I felt resentment for both this person and his/her friends and lovers.

So what, pray tell, was my grievance? That I should be liked at least as much as—if not more than—this person's other friends. Whether this was a fair or unreasonable grievance, the fact is that I had it. So, what did I want to be done in order to remedy this grievance? Well, I simply wanted this person to like me more. And herein lay my newfound discovery.

Turning for a moment to my belief in God, I realised two things. First, there is no way on this earth (no matter how hard I try) that I can actually make someone like me. I can guilt them all I want. I can sulk all I want. I can point out the shortcomings of their friends until I turn blue in the face. But nothing I can do can change something that comes from the deepest and most visceral part of each person: his/her instinctual liking/attraction to another person. We either like someone or we don't; we have no conscious control over this and it cannot be forced. Sure, liking might change over time, but people live in the present and, as such, they must be concerned with the reality of the here-and-now. The second thing I realised is that I cannot fight the way that things in life are meant to be.

Although these two realisations may seem elementary to most people, they were profound to me. I recalled a particular scene in the movie American Beauty in which one of the characters becomes mesmerised by a piece of trash flying around in the wind. He remarks how beautiful it is that there is a unique driving force behind even the most random and inconsequential events. It dawned on me that because I met this person in such an unlikely way (through a particularly dark moment in a mutual friend's life) there is certainly a hidden force influencing our relationship. This helped me realise that there is a whole life out there—an entire universe—that I do not control, but of which I am, nonetheless, an intricate part. I realised, therefore, that in making an active effort to force this person like me more than s/he does, I was actively interfering with something that was not my place to interfere with. If, for instance, God made our two paths cross and forged the kind of relationship that he did (the kind where it seems that one person likes one more than the other), then it is the ultimate act of arrogance to actively tinker with this. As human beings, all we can do is be ourselves and hope that others will find this agreeable. To do otherwise is to interfere with the natural flow of life (or, as the Taoists would say, "the Way"). If I think I can circumvent this and make someone like me, then I am seriously deluded.

Who knows if the relationship I currently have with this person will grow into something else. Perhaps this person will come to like me more—at least as much as I like him/her. Perhaps we will become good friends. Perhaps not. Perhaps we might become more than friends. Perhaps not. Maybe s/he will suddenly realise that I would make a pretty good friend. Maybe s/he will even find me physically attractive one day and, consequently, see me as more than a friend. Who knows. All I can do is be me and let the relationship go where it might. To do otherwise is anathema to life. Suffice it to say, as long as we are both good to each other and do whatever we can to enjoy our company and nurture what has clearly been placed in our laps (indeed, neither of us searched each other out), then things will go according to whatever plan has been set out and things will be what they will be. Any interference on my part is completely fatuous.

I shared all the thoughts in this diary entry with the person in question. And when I was finished, I suddenly felt a considerable part of my jealousy lift (not all of it, mind you; this entire process is a work in progress). But suddenly I felt freer and happier. Suddenly I actually felt free to wish this person well and to be happy for the fact that s/he has good friends. I also felt happy that this person's friends were enriched by knowing him/her. I even felt free to be happy for the day that this person finds someone s/he will fall in love with. By listening to my feelings (and God knows it wasn't an easy process), I moved from being a bitter and jaded person to feeling much more like the kind of person that someone actually would like and with whom one would want to have a deeper relationship. By listening to my feelings, I became free to just let things be; to let our relationship grow and to trust that, in the end, everything will work out—as it always does.