Envy for the Unburdened

Evan Wildstein
Sep 4, 2018 · 3 min read

Jealousy is not my thing. As emotions go, I find it to be one of the least useful. But maybe in an Ecclesiastic way, there is a time for everything, and for me I feel that time is now.


You forget how cold hospitals are, temperature wise — a detail which escapes you over time. You forget the unforgiving stiffness of the chairs. The relentless coming-and-going of people, and the drone of some patient’s whatever machine beeping down the hall. Such important details, at the time, or so they seem.

As I sat to write this, I wasn’t really thinking about hospitals, even though that’s where I was headed. I was between airports (Chicago, I think) en route to join my family. Fuck you very much, cancer. Like the chorus of a song, this has been somewhat of a constant refrain in my life. I’d always hoped as I got older the intervals in between would be longer. Alas.

Myself, I am everyday inching closer to my 40s. I have less hair than I want, and I have to wear glasses now more often than I don’t, which almost feels like a right analogy… seeing things in a new way, more clearly. And the way I see it, shit is pretty heavy. People always seem to be getting sick, family matters are a nuanced minefield, there’s never enough time for anything, and what in god’s name is with this pain in my leg? Anyone will tell you, I don’t take myself seriously at all, though while levity can be heavenly, no amount of sarcasm can unburden these things. These real, heavy things.

So during this airport layover, I sat eating my $11 croissant-shitwich, listening to people whine about the woes of dating, unimpressive brunch experiences, where they’re going diving on their next sunny vacation, and so on. This is not unlike normal days back home, with people bemoaning frivolities, but it felt different. It felt petty. And in that moment, I realized, for an un-jealous person, I felt a great deal of envy. Jealousy.

I’m jealous. There, I said it.

I’m jealous to not be of a certain age or place in my life when the absolute hardest things are dating and brunch. The hardest things now are real things, like end-of-life arrangements, caretakers, and the most gut wrenching phone calls you’ll ever have to make in your life. I heard someone say recently, “We’re privileged to have these problems.” Like somehow, these “privileges” are little merit badges you get to sew on your jacket. And maybe that’s a nice sentiment, and possibly true. But I’d be just fine without such privileges. The burden of carrying such privileges is fucking heavy, and I have great envy for the unburdened.

I just hope there’s a point, because I’m wrestling these days. I’m wearing thin on silver linings, and little victories, and saving graces. I am madly in love and I’m thankful everyday I have someone to spot me, lifting these heavy burdens. But she has her own too, and some days I know we wish we could both take a break from #adulting.

But the other night, upon learning of a recent family burden, a waitress gave us free pie. And it didn’t feel like a silver lining. It felt like, just for a moment, I was burden-free, weightless. Just for that one moment, I wasn’t wrestling.

And for someone who can’t take himself seriously, it took pie to remind me: sometimes you lift heavy weights just to lift them up, and sometimes you lift heavy weights to lift up yourself.

Evan Wildstein

Written by

Houstonian since 2010 by way of NYC, stumbling through the nonprofit sector for 15+ years.

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