Don't envy what you'd hand back

Envy is a magpie. It grabs the one shiny piece and ignores the rest of the nest. You want the corner office but not the eighty-hour weeks that come welded to it. You want her client list, not her ulcer. You want his house, not the second mortgage and the marriage strained thin to pay for it. The trap is that comparison only ever shows you the trophy, never the whole package it ships in.

Seneca describes the wise person's grip on the very things others scramble for: "he does not love riches, but he prefers to have them; he does not receive them into his spirit, but only into his house" (Of a Happy Life 21, Stewart). Into the house, not the spirit. The good stuff is welcome — a raise, a nicer car, a bit of room. It just doesn't get to move into the soul and set the terms.

So before you envy the package, picture taking the whole of it. The cost, the hours, the things they gave up that you'd never give up. Most envy quietly dissolves once you'd actually have to sign for delivery.