Another Comparison Trap - Not Comparing Like to Like

A few weeks ago, my family took a trip to Vernal, Utah, to enjoy some Whitewater rafting and try out the Ashley Gorge Via Ferrata. The rock climbing portion of this adventure was a stretch for me - I spent the entire experience sweating, panting, shaking, and gauging when my courage would be totally depleted and if that point would be before I was actually off the wall. The astute observer may notice subtle differences between these two photos:

Jamie: hugging the blue square (intermediate) route wall. Having a great time, also terrified.

Jamie's children: scrambling up the black-diamond (advanced) routes, without fear or apparent fatigue.

I had a great time on our adventure and was very proud of my performance (not dying, falling, or collapsing). Yet there was also a part of me that felt wildly inferior to my children. And that comparison could threaten to dull my joy and victory at a very brave personal best.

This is an apt followup to my last post, also about comparison, and this one is inspired both by my children and by my friend Dr. Angela Trego's book, Squashing the Imposter Syndrome: when we compare, be careful to compare like-to-like. 

For example, if I start a new job and feel like a useless idiot because I don't know how to do a quarter of the things my coworker does, I have to ask myself, "Yes, and how are our experiences different? Am I comparing me after 2 weeks on the job with her after 2 months? Do I know how she was feeling at 2 weeks? Is my point of comparison actually accurate?" And, usually, it's not accurate. Usually we compare our gap to someone else's mastery. 

So when I am tempted to feel like a loser because my children are scrambling around like happy monkeys hundreds of feet above the canyon floor and I am clinging to my little handle trying not to hyperventilate, I would be wise to remember the differences in our experiences: 

I am twice their age, do not train to climb, have a healthier innate trepidation towards heights, and am recovering from major knee surgery. They are in their physical prime, actually train climbing, and haven't had a part of their body replaced this year.  None of that takes away from the beauty of their mastery - they are AWESOME. And also recognizing the differences in our situations reminds me that I'm not them, and I'm not going to perform like them right now. 

Comparison is so tricky. Don't let it steal your joy.

A Comparison Trap - Comparing Myself to a Romanticized Past

Last week I went mountain biking for the first time since my ACL surgery. It was a mix of experiences - on one hand, it felt great to be back on a bike doing something I love. On the other hand, it felt a little demoralizing to feel like a beginner again; my turns weren't fluid, and I didn't trust my body (for good reason!) or my bike. It brings us back to the oft-quoted Theodore Roosevelt pearl: Comparison is the thief of joy.

But this is a sneaky comparison, because it seems reasonable - after all, aren't I comparing my performance to my past performance? Isn't that reasonable? Well, yes and no. Let's dive in:

1. I may be romanticizing that past memory. Did things really feel as natural and fluid on a bike as I remember? Maybe. Then again, maybe not. It certainly seems possible that I am conjuring nostalgia for a past that was never quite as rosy as I'm painting it to be now.
2. But let's say that's not the case and I'm not simply being nostalgic - maybe I really am remembering an accurate version of myself. Even if this is the case, comparison still has issues because I am probably comparing myself to a previous peak rather than a typical pre-injury day. I'm not comparing like-for-like; I'm comparing old me's peak performance to current me's first day back on the bike in nine months. 
3. The only accurate comparison would be to compare current-day me to the last time I was off the bike for nine months and had a major reconstructive surgery... which... doesn't exist. So there is no accurate comparison that I can reasonably make.
4. And, lastly, even if there was an accurate comparison I could make to my past performance, I would be wise to ask myself what I have to gain by comparing my experience to a past memory. Does it serve me? Because before I started comparing, I was enjoying the experience for what it was. And after I let comparison creep in, I felt discontent rather than enjoyment.

Comparison, even to some memory of our past selves, is a natural response, but it may not be a healthy response. Comparison to how I (think I) used to feel threatened to steal my joy in my first dirt ride in many months, and offered nothing positive in exchange for that enjoyment.

Where does comparison to a past imagined version of yourself threaten to steal your joy? Could you stay anchored in the pleasure of that moment rather than bowing to the internal pressure to compare? Which option leaves you feeling more fulfilled? What serves you better, being grounded in the moment or comparing the moment to a "better" past?

When Healing isn't Linear (spoiler: it's never linear)

I just hit 3 months post-surgery on my ACL reconstruction.  It's been a tough three months. 

There are three main components to the healing: mobility, strength, and reintegration.  Mobility was the first one to check off my list.  I worked hard to bend and extend my knee, and by week 5ish, I had pretty full mobility (with some stiffness now and then).

The next is strength.  This is a long, slow haul to get the quadracep to re-engage.  Post-surgery, the body basically says, "um... something terrible is happening over there on that leg, so we're just going to ignore it," which would be a reasonable response except that I really want to be able to use my leg, major trauma included.  So rebuilding strength involves seemingly endless repetitions of squats, electric stimulation, and quad engagement to talk my nervous system into rebuilding quad connection and strength.

And, lastly, we have the reintegration of my ACL.  This is the process by which my bone and my new ACL (formerly part of my hamstring) grow together to provide long-term stability. This process takes up to six months, is integral to healing, and there's nothing you can do to speed it up. It's just going to take the time it takes. 

Why am I walking you through all of this? One, I want you to commiserate with me on the long road I'm on. Sigh. But, more importantly, I think that all healing (physical, emotional, spiritual, mental) has some portion of each component:

1. The part that's pretty much under my control, and if I work on it, I can heal. And the "amount" of healing is directly related to my daily efforts.
2. The part that needs a lot of reps. I have to put in daily work, but I won't see daily progress; I'll just see the evidence of the healing if I zoom out to weeks and months.
3. The part that is just going to take the time it needs. I can't control it, I can't speed it up. It's integral but nonlinear and uncontrollable. And, really, I only see the evidence of the healing when something catastrophic happens and either the healing holds, or it doesn't. 

How have you seen these patterns play out in your own healing journeys? And how do you cope with part 3, the stuff that's just going to take the time it takes? Asking for a friend 🙃