Comparing is for meerkats

I wasn’t a lawyer long enough to have lots of zeros on the end of my paycheque but I was a lawyer long enough to learn a thing or two about the people who do. They’re called partners. And at many large law firms they have lots of zeros deposited into their bank accounts each month. Which is excellent because who wouldn’t want lots of zeros?? And in the case of legal partners it is not money for jam. Whilst working for a large firm I witnessed, firsthand, the blood, sweat and tears that partnership entails. The competition is fierce, getting there is one hurdle, staying there is another altogether, the expectations are immense, the hours are punishing and I’m yet to meet a partner who says ‘Gosh this career path is one big barrel of laughs.’ It’s not. It’s well remunerated but it’s hard work.

Anyway, in my second career when I reincarnated myself as a journalist, I had cause to interview lots of partners. Which was fantastic because it enabled me to, quite legitimately, ask all the questions I had saved up from my own time in practise. Mostly, “Why?” Anyway. One thing I didn’t know about partners when I worked for a firm, that I learned later as a journalist, surprised me. It was the way some are paid.

At some firms partners are paid according to tenure. The longer they’ve been partner, the more they earn. At some firms, though, partners are paid purely on merit. They are ranked from top to bottom on the basis of their performance in the previous financial year and where they sit on the ladder determines their share of the takings. Lots of firms use a combination of these methods but it was the firms that only use a ranking system that made me shudder. 

Knowing what I do about how hard it is to even become a partner, I thought, how utterly demoralising. After all the hard yakka to even get the big office you then have to submit yourself to this ghastly process, year after year, where you are pitted against all of your peers, for all to see. Can you imagine being the poor partner who comes last??? In theory, I’m sure, the individual at the back of the pack could reason that just being a partner is a terrific professional achievement. But, in reality, coming in at the rear end of all your peers would still be tough. One managing partner, with the dubious honour of informing partners how they placed, said he dreaded the process more than anything else in his yearly calendar.  

It seared this on my mind: there is no sense in comparing yourself to anyone else. Not your peers, not your neighbours, not your siblings, not your friends. No one. And not just because of the inner fulfilment that I'm sure is delivered by simply running your own race. But because there will ALWAYS be someone better than you and it might make you feel lousy. Whether you’re the partner that comes last or the partner that comes first, there will always be someone better. There will be another firm that is more prestigious or more profitable than yours. Or there will be some hot-shot partner at a smaller firm that might out-do you or a talented up and comer biting at your heels. The thing is once you start looking for comparisons, you will almost inevitably fall short and where is the fun in that? It’s the reason I try not to compare myself with others.

   

Of course I don’t always succeed. It creeps up on me. It happened recently  without me realising it. I am currently quite obsessed with a blog called Recipe Rifle that is written by UK journalist Esther Walker. There are some parallels between her life and mine; she has a two year old daughter and is expecting her second baby any week now, so I relate to many of her posts. The thing is, even though she writes very honestly about the dreary side of her life, I can’t help but imagine her life is utterly glamorous. Which is ridiculous because she quite regularly reveals how it’s not. But I’m stubborn. She has just had a book published, she is married to The Times food critic Giles Coren and the way she writes is magic. The combined effect of this is that whenever I read her posts I also feel pangs of envy and inadequacy. That I don’t write as well as she does. That my observations aren’t as sharp. That I’m not as witty. That, really, I shouldn’t be writing a blog when there are writers like her, who are obviously so much better at it than me.

This has all been quite subconscious. I had just been questioning the purpose of my blog in a way I hadn’t really before. Before I had figured out why, in the wonderful way this universe works, I read this post. Esther had been so excited to be featured in The Guardian’s Family section of the weekend paper on the back of her new book. It’s her favourite insert and she felt “beside herself” that she’d made it in. At least she did until she opened The Times Magazine and saw a huge feature on Katie Quinn Davies who they described as the “world’s best food blogger”. She immediately felt deflated and grossly inadequate. Her bubble had been burst. What was the point of her blog when there are uber blogs like What Katie Ate?

It made me realise the same had happened to me. Albeit more gradually and with Esther my protagonist. There’s no real point to any of this, other than it reminded me, once again, why I should steer clear of drawing comparisons. It's a game I'll never win. It's true that mine isn’t the sharpest blog out there, my life might not be as glamorous as I perceive Esther’s to be, and I certainly don’t have a cult following like Kate Quinn Davies. But it’s my blog. And the truth of the matter is, without it, I would drown inside my head. It keeps me sane so you’re stuck with me! And in the meantime start reading Recipe Rifle. It is terrific.