Column: Pass the Hot Dish, by Alexandra Kloster

I’m jealous of feet.

Remember when people used to bring those little bearded gnomes on vacation and take pictures of them in front of interesting backdrops? Mr. Gnome went to the Grand Canyon. Mr. Gnome is on top of the Empire State Building. There’s Mr. Gnome in his seat on the 50-yard line. It was a way for people to say, “I’m on vacation, and you’re not.”

Now it’s feet. People like to post photos on Facebook of their perfectly pedicured toes nuzzled in white sand beaches, hanging over a pool, or resting on a dashboard heading anywhere and everywhere.

When I’m on vacation I’d rather post three paragraphs describing my room service breakfast, so I never paid much attention to the well-traveled feet photos, until one day last February when a pair of them kicked me right in the head.

My feet were under wool socks, no toenail polish, no tan, nothing but dry skin and arches that were threatening to fall. I’d never felt less attractive, and it seemed like any little luxury I’d ever known would never be mine again. In short, I was the mother of twin babies and my husband was out of town.

I flipped open the computer, tapped in my password and all the theories about how Facebook promotes envy and resentment when we’re confronted with images of our friends’ perfect lives were proven by two elegant poolside feet staring at me from sunny California. I knew these feet. These feet had a lot of things I wish I had.

That Morrissey song, “We hate it when our friends become successful” rang in my head like a death knell to my soul. Don’t ask for whom the Morrissey song plays, Kloster. It plays for you.

Suddenly, I had the wrong house, the wrong clothes, the wrong weather, the wrong feet. It was a horrible feeling. A good friend of mine was enjoying herself on a hard-earned vacation, and I was bitterly jealous. It was ugly and irrational, and it blinded me to the miraculous wonder that is my life.

Did it have to be this way? The next day when I was gaining ground in the race to rational thought, I signed on to Facebook again and read about everything my friends were doing, what they were celebrating, what adventures they were having, mindful of how their lives related to their world not mine.

Like the Grinch who tried to steal Christmas and realized all the Whos in Whoville were more than sparkly trappings and glittery spectacle, my heart grew three sizes bigger that day.

The integrity I found on my Facebook news feed was staggering. How’s that for a sentence you never thought you’d hear?

How could I have not noticed that I was scrolling through greatness every day?

There were teachers, doctors, students, homemakers, volunteers, activists, therapists, lawyers, artists, business owners, and so much more.

There were people fighting sickness with true grit, taking care of elderly parents with grace and patience, single mothers and single fathers working hard to be everything for their families, parents of special needs children navigating the mysteries of autism, and so much more.

There were people rejoicing and mourning, fighting and forgiving, stumbling and getting up, retiring and just beginning, doing all of it with tenacity, strength, wisdom and so much more.

Beautiful spirits living life fully, is there anything better? I was overcome with pride and tenderness for them. By golly, that old saying was true: Every time a Facebook status changes, an angel gets his wings. Well, maybe not every status. Today I posted how funny I thought it was that my autocorrect changed the word “things” to “thongs,” but you get the idea.

One of the best gifts we can give ourselves at the holidays is to be happy for others. Go to sleep counting someone else’s blessings with an open heart and see how easy you rest.

There’s no secret. There’s no magic spell. Trust me, a former green-eyed monster, all you have to do is change your thinking. Instead of keeping up with the Joneses, decide to be happy for the Joneses. You’ll be amazed how quickly the burden of not good enough is lifted from you and replaced by relaxed benevolence.

Whether you “Happy Hanukkah,” “Merry Christmas,” “Happy Kwanzaa” or dance around playing the flute on winter solstice, aren’t they all made more joyful with a dose of unconditional goodwill?

As the wise prophet Kojak said one Christmas back in those ancient days of the 1970s, “Love thy neighbor, baby!” It’ll make you feel good all over.

 

Woodbury resident Alexandra Kloster appears every other Sunday. She may be reached at alikloster@yahoo.com, and her blog is at alexandrakloster.com.