I was oblivious of the ways in which envy operated inside of me. I would find myself telling my husband all the seemingly valid reasons I didn’t like someone, only to realize that I had, again, missed the point: Oh, she’s not pretentious, I’m envious that her grade schoolers are doing high school–level math and winning art fairs! Oh, she’s not a sellout, I’m envious that she’s achieving more than me in the world and is always on vacation! In romantic, far-flung locales! What. a. bitch.
