Understanding envy; the 'if only' trap.

'The Critic' 1943, Weegee (Arthur Fellig).

I've always found this photograph fascinating. In it we see wealthy socialites, and benefactors of the Arts, Mrs George Washington Kavenagh and Lady Decies attending an opening night at the Metropolitan Opera New York. They've just stepped out of their limo directly into the glare of the photographers flash. They appear to be unaware of the woman standing to their left. In contrast to the onlooker they look rather exotic, slightly ridiculous, with an air of vulnerability, clinging perhaps to each other for security.

The onlooker appears to be seething with resentment, hatred even, as the saying goes. She's clearly from a different class, and has none of their refinement,  her hair's a mess, there's no ermine, no tiara, no jewels.  It looks like she's wearing a sheepskin coat. Sadly time has forgotten this woman, and there's no record of her name.

The encounter was in fact a carefully managed, rather cruel and unethical set-up, the photographer got his assistant to go down to Sammy's bar on the Bowery, find some poor soul (in this case who also happened to be very drunk) and take them in a cab uptown in order to get the reaction shot Fellig anticipated and desired.

This image of a confrontation confronts us with our prejudices and gets us to consider where our sympathies lie. But who suffers? Do the poor have a monopoly on suffering, or is suffering as Buddhism suggests a universal phenomena, one of the four Noble Truths? This image is in a way a powerful representation of that most corrosive of human emotions- envy. Haven't we all at some stage felt like the onlooker here, felt that awful feeling where the self seems to writhe, contract and twist, with the only outer movement being one of hatred and resentment.

We tend to dismiss envy quickly without considering what is really going on. When we are envious we may feel like attacking others but significantly it is primarily a form of self-attack. The envious person has the misapprehension that he needs something others have in order to be happy. Fortune is located externally, its something out there, and happiness is thought to be out of reach, we feel excluded.  So when we catch ourselves feeling envious it's important to consider what is really happening. It demands a re-evaluation of ourselves. Are we really that impoverished? What is stopping us appreciating ourselves? Do we have to be the needy supplicant?

Envy is a form of self-sabotage and it fits neatly with the shame based aspects of the self-the despised self that feels it is never good enough, the shamed self that may in some way have a compulsive need to feel bad, that paradoxically can't tolerate good self fortune. When we notice envy arising we are almost certainly idealising the other in some form, the other person, the other situation and the bit we are usually less conscious of- denigrating the self. We lose contact with the good that is in the present and instead resort to an 'if only' plea.  If only I won the lottery ('it could be you'), if only I had a good-looking boyfriend or girlfriend, if only I was famous, if only, if only. Can you hear the 'if-only' chorus in your life? Of course we live in a culture that thrives on our discontent, envy is in many ways the motor that keeps consumerism going. We are never full, never sated. The envious person wishes their life away chasing an illusory happiness. The envious live a provisional life. The envious person is out of touch with the gifts he already has, he lacks generosity towards the self and he's unable to rejoice in the good fortune of others. Envy is the great spoiler of the good, the rain on the parade.

However resisting envy doesn't mean we need become stoic, we don't have to simply grin and bear it, it is okay to want more for ourselves, to have legitimate aspirations, so long as we realise that getting more doesn't guarantee happiness. As the saying goes be careful of what you wish for.

I also want to say something here about the so-called 'politics of envy'. We all know that envy is unpleasant, which is perhaps why the tired phrase 'politics of envy' gets trotted out so often when anyone challenges inequality of wealth. Political actions they suggest are motivated by envy, and are pathological.

This is a complex topic.  Envy calls us back to the self. What do we really need and value? When we make a more accurate assessment we often find what we thought we needed we already have, or is much closer than we realised, and then we can become more expansive and experience more spaciousness; our focus shifts from getting to giving.

The thrill is gone: the unbearable pain of Chet Baker. A review of 'Lets Get Lost'.

I've finally got around to watching Bruce Weber's 1988 documentary on the life, loves and music of Chet Baker 'Lets Get Lost'. I began by dipping in and out of the film on You Tube and then watched the film in its entirety with PT. It's an excellent heartbreaking film; a meditation on beauty, pain and loss.

We see Baker towards the end of his life, still a relatively young man in his late fifties, but looking much older-looking, lost and confused. He's filmed in artful black and white at glamorous locations-the beaches of Santa Monica, the back of open-top Caddilacs and the Cannes Film Festival. Baker looks wracked with emotional pain. In some of the scenes he's surrounded by friends, family and laughing carefree 'beautiful people'. Weber has a knack of making them all look incredibly glamorous and star-like, all of which acts as a cruel counterpoint to Baker himself who looks sleazy more like a street person, a hobo. If they are Dorian Gray, he is their portrait in the attic.

My favourite collection of Chet Baker songs on the Pacific Jazz label.

Weber tells the tale of his early life in Oklahoma, the handsome clean-cut young man, the madness he feigned to escape the army, the myths surrounding the loss of his teeth in a violent assault (a calamity for a trumpet player-he had to have dentures), his irresistible charm to women. There are interviews with his ex-wives, who all at some point wanted I think to rescue him caught up in grudging co-dependency, being used themselves and using him. The allure of the bad boy/object? We see his mother who admits tearfully, hesitantly that yes he was a disappointment and we see his charming grown-up children who he hardly ever saw, including his sons who have inherited his good looks, though one suspects little of his wealth. There are noticeably few references to his father. Baker is at his most animated when talking about his drug addiction, enthusing about his favourite high; speedballs,  a mix of cocaine and heroin which he's at pains to point out has to be mixed carefully in just the right proportions to attain the optimal high.  When asked what was the happiest day of his life, people don't feature; he recalls the purchase of a new automobile.

'I get along without you very well. Of course I do. Except perhaps in spring. But I should never think of Spring. For that would surely break my heart in two.'

Chet Baker was naturally musical. He never had to work at playing the trumpet, he could play it a couple of weeks after picking it up age twelve. His voice had the same effortless ease and musicality, and most remarkably although the body aged terribly the voice retained its youth and innocence, barely changed right til the end. It's a strange voice, superficially easy on the ear, soft, gently lyrical and melodious yet oddly affectless and out of relationship. Its as if there's no-one there, no-one listening. Perhaps that was his unconscious conviction; no-one's there. It's this alienation and lack of connectedness that makes Chet Baker's music so powerful. Even with the more up-tempo numbers such as Always Look For The Silver Lining the music has an ache to it, all is tinged with melancholy, hinting at an unbearable yet unreachable pain. The music is blue, but isn't the blues-there's no sense of resilience none of the humorous defiance of the bluesmen; just a world weary resignation; someone doing the best they can, hanging-in there, self-medicating on drugs, doing what they know and do best, singing and playing the horn. Paradoxically in spite of this the recordings have a peculiar intimacy; reduced to bystanders we bear private silent witness to his pain, the pain of someone who seems to be using song and melody to self-soothe. Little Boy Blue's jazz lullabies.

At the end of the film we see a confused, disoriented Baker at the Cannes film festival surrounded by hangers on and sycophants. He looks a little irritated but doesn't make a fuss. They eventually persuade him to sing. One for the road... Chet politely requests them not to talk during the performance, to be 'kind of quiet, cos it's that kind of tune' then gives a wonderful achingly sad rendition of 'Almost Blue' a song Elvis Costello wrote especially for him.

'now your eyes are red from crying. Almost blue...' 

and as he sings you know this is his swansong, and when the credits rolled I found myself fighting back my tears, swallowing hard.

What's stopping you being happy? Counselling and psychotherapy in east london.

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I've just produced a new leaflet to promote my psychotherapy and counselling service, which is based in E10, east London (close to Leytonstone Station on the Central Line). I went through a number of drafts before settling on quite simple wording and design arranged around the question 'What's stopping you being happy?'.
I'm pleased with how it came out, though discovering there are only a limited number of appropriate venues where you can leave leaflets, hence my use of this post to try and achieve a wider circulation.

If anyone would like to know more about the type of therapy I offer (Core Process Psychotherapy) please email me: vallance@hotmail.co.uk