Comparison Trap: My Life Is Not a Nancy Meyers Movie.

I was scrolling through Substack the other day. You know, the platform that insists it is not social media, but a newsletter platform.

Sorry. I digress.

Anyway, I came across a post about how someone’s mom makes summer feel like a Nancy Meyers movie.

Now, because I love the Nancy Meyers aesthetic like the many of us, of course I clicked.

And sure enough, it was lovely.

There were open doors. Beautiful light. Effortless summer meals. A home that looked lived-in but somehow still perfect. The kind of house where there is probably a linen shirt hanging over a chair, fresh flowers on the counter, and a bowl of lemons that looks casual but was definitely placed there by someone with an eye for composition.

I wanted to love it. And I did love it. But with every photo, I noticed this little thought come up: I can’t do that.

There was a photo of doors left open all summer.

Well, I live on the marsh…in Florida.

Lord only knows what would be in my house if I left the doors open all summer. Mosquitoes. Lizards. Frogs. Maybe a possum. Possibly something prehistoric.

I dream of having a screened-in porch someday, but alas, that is another project for another day.

Then there was a photo of a big platter of pancakes with a caption about how she makes a huge breakfast every Saturday morning.

Again, lovely. But I thought, well, that won’t work for me either.

It’s just me and Anthony. I teach yoga on Saturday mornings. He sleeps in. No one is sitting around waiting for me to make a pancake platter. And if I did make one, I’d probably eat two pancakes, feel too full, and then wonder why I did that.

It went on like this. Photo after photo. Beautiful image after beautiful image. And thought after thought: That’s not my life. And most likely that will never be my life.

My life is not a Nancy Meyers movie. My home is not the set of one either. And when I compare my actual life to that aesthetic, my life starts to feel lacking. But then I had to ask myself: Is it? Is my life actually lacking?

Because yes, I may not be leaving my doors open all summer, but I do live on an island with marshfront property in Florida. Some days it feels like a slice of old Florida, the kind of place where the light changes over the water, the birds are always doing something interesting, and the air has that thick, coastal, salty smell. Oh, and there are these tiny little crabs that scurry about at the end of my yard.

I have been married to the same man for 27 years, and we still love and like each other. That is not a small thing.

I am obsessive about my dogs, and they bring ridiculous amounts of joy into my life.

I have friends who check on me when I am sick and say things like, “That’s what sisters do.”

I own my own business. I get to do work I actually care about. I get to sit with women as they heal, grow, reconnect with themselves, and begin to live differently.

How many people can say that?

So why is it so easy to forget?

Why can one lovely post about someone else’s summer make my own life feel smaller than it is?

My friend, that is the comparison trap.

It’s not like it starts with hating our own lives. It can begin innocently enough with admiring someone else’s. We see something beautiful, and we like it. Then somewhere along the way, admiration turns into measurement. Her kitchen looks like that, and mine looks like, well, a construction site. Her Saturday mornings look like that, and mine look like business as usual. Her family gathers like that, and mine…you get the idea. Her life seems softer, prettier, easier, fuller, more intentional, more charming, more together. Then I look around at my own life and see the dog hair, the unfinished projects, the porch we have not screened in yet, the laundry, the schedule, the marriage that is good but also real, the business I love that still requires payroll and emails and decisions and hard conversations, the body that does not look like it used to, and the house that has potential but also needs work. And suddenly, what is good begins to disappear behind what is missing.

Earlier today, I was looking at jewelry online and came across a necklace engraved with the words: “When you focus on good, the good gets better.”

I thought, “Isn’t that true?”

Not in a pretend-everything-is-fine kind of way. I don’t mean we ignore grief, stress, injustice, financial pressure, health issues, loneliness, or real pain. There are things in life that are genuinely hard. There are seasons that require endurance, support, therapy, prayer, practical help, and sometimes major change.

But there is also something powerful about attention. What we focus on grows in our awareness. If I only notice what my home is not, I miss what it is. If I measure my marriage by some imagined ideal, I overlook the real love and history we have built. If I stay fixed on the business goal I have not reached yet, I miss the miracle of building something from nothing. And if I only see the body I wish I had, I forget the body that has carried me through decades of life.

And this is where I think many of us are struggling. Right?

We are surrounded by more images, more options, more lifestyles, more aesthetics, more advice, more upgrades, more “must-haves,” more “this changed my life” products, more curated morning routines, more beautiful homes, more vacations, more transformations, more evidence that someone somewhere is doing life better than we are.

And then we wonder why we feel restless.

The United States is one of the wealthiest countries in the world. According to the U.S. Census Bureau, the real median household income in 2024 was $83,730. And yet Gallup reported in 2025 that only 44% of Americans said they were “very satisfied” with their personal lives, a record low for that measure. (Census.gov) (Gallup.com)

That does not mean people are wrong to feel dissatisfied. Life is expensive, and many people are carrying real pressure from housing costs, healthcare, childcare, debt, and the general cost of living. At the same time, it points to something important: having more does not automatically make us feel like we have enough. Psychologists sometimes call this hedonic adaptation, or the hedonic treadmill. It is our tendency to adjust to what we have, even when what we have is good. The house we once dreamed about becomes ordinary. The income goal we worked toward becomes the new baseline. The body change, the accomplishment, the vacation, the kitchen renovation, and even the screened-in porch I still want will eventually become part of normal life. That does not make desire wrong. I still want the screened-in porch, the beautiful kitchen, and the peaceful Saturday morning with a pancake platter, at least in theory. Desire itself is not the problem. The problem comes when desire becomes the lens through which we judge the life we already have.

I heard someone talking recently about Michael Phelps, the Olympic swimmer. He won more Olympic medals than any athlete in history, and yet after reaching the top of his sport, he struggled deeply with depression and identity. That is not exactly the same thing as wanting a Nancy Meyers summer, of course. But in some ways, it points to the same deeper issue. If our sense of self is always out ahead of us, waiting for the next achievement, the next version of our home, the next body, the next income level, the next season, the next proof that we have finally arrived, then we never actually get to live where we are.

So what is the solution? I think it’s gratitude. Research on gratitude interventions has found that practicing gratitude is associated with greater gratitude, increased life satisfaction, and improved well-being. That makes sense to me because gratitude interrupts the hedonic treadmill. It helps us pause long enough to say: this is good, this matters, and this is worth noticing.

It makes me pause long enough to recognize the beauty in my own life. There is beauty in the marsh, in the dogs underfoot, and in a husband sleeping in on a Saturday morning because he is home, safe, and part of my life. There is beauty in me teaching yoga (hello? Who would have thought I’d be teaching yoga in my 50s?) instead of making pancakes. There is beauty in friends who check in, in a business that is growing, and in a house that is unfinished but ours. There is beauty in a life that does not photograph well but is comfortable and safe.

Gratitude cultivates contentment. Contentment is the ability to desire what is next while still receiving what is now. That feels like a good distinction because I love beauty. I love a well-designed room, the Nancy Meyers kitchen, fresh-cut flowers, and the effortless summer table with close friends surrounding it chatting over a good meal. Gratitude does not require us to reject beautiful things. It asks us to stop letting someone else’s beauty make us feel accused in our own life. We can admire without measuring. 

My life is definitely not a Nancy Meyers movie. It has unfinished projects, Florida bugs (can you say “no-see-ums”), dog hair, work emails, and a running list of things I would like to fix, change, build, and realize. But you know what? My life has love, friendship, purpose, beauty, and the marsh. It is a life I prayed for in one season and sometimes forget to notice in this one.

When we focus on good, the good really does get better because we finally learn how to see it.

References

Diener, E., Lucas, R. E., & Scollon, C. N. (2006). Beyond the hedonic treadmill: Revising the adaptation theory of well-being. American Psychologist, 61(4), 305–314. https://doi.org/10.1037/0003-066X.61.4.305

Diniz, G., Korkes, L., Tristão, L. S., Pelegrini, R., Bellodi, P. L., & Bernardo, W. M. (2023). The effects of gratitude interventions: A systematic review and meta-analysis. Einstein (São Paulo), 21, eRW0371. https://doi.org/10.31744/einstein_journal/2023RW0371

Gallup. (2025, January 23). New low in U.S. “very satisfied” with personal life. https://news.gallup.com/poll/655493/new-low-satisfied-personal-life.aspx

International Olympic Committee. (2024, May 14). 23-time gold medallist Michael Phelps opens up on “post-Olympic depression.” Olympics.com. https://www.olympics.com/en/news/23-time-gold-medallist-michael-phelps-opens-up-on-post-olympic-depression

U.S. Census Bureau. (2025, September 9). Income in the United States: 2024. https://www.census.gov/library/publications/2025/demo/p60-286.html