Smiley's People

When I was in grammar school there was this one kid who always had such a happy look on his face that one of the teachers nicknamed him “Smiley.”

He was a nice guy, as I recall, but I haven’t seen, heard, nor thought of Smiley since we all graduated in 1971--until last week.

I’m writing a novel that takes place in the 70s and there are some scenes that take place in a Catholic grammar school not unlike the one I attended.

I have certain rules for my nightly writing sessions, the most important of which is stay off the goddamn internet.

That means no YouTube, Outlook, Facebook, Instagram or any other time-sucking distraction.

The rule has served me very well when I follow it, but all too often I’ll invent the flimsiest of excuses to head out on a wild Google chase and waste the entire evening.

Such was the case last week when Smiley’s smiling face came free floating into my mind and I just had to know right and there what this person I had not seen in 50 years was up to.

So, instead of writing, I set off on a wild Google search and I found that Smiley is now Dr. Smiley, a specialist at a large New York hospital.

It was strange seeing the man when all I had was the memory of the child, and, as I read about his accomplishments, I found something was eating away at me.

Look at this guy, my inner critic snarled as the smoke poured out of my ears. Look how successful he is. He’s a doctor for God’s sake. What are you?

What was I? I was envious as hell, that’s what I was.

But this excursion into self-abuse session wasn’t over yet. Oh, hell, no.

Grin and Bear It

My itchy google-finger immediately began searching for another grammar school classmate named Vince, whom I learned is now a lawyer with an investment company in California.

Now I was really feeling awful about myself, while that chapter I was supposed to be writing got washed away by a green tide of regret and self-recrimination.

The painful moments finally passed, which allowed me to look at the situation logically. Self-sabotage comes in many guises and this nostalgic nightmare was another excuse for my dysfunctional double to make feel me miserable.

Nothing had stopped me from going to medical school or law school back when I was young--except, of course that I had absolutely no interest or aptitude in either area.

I was telling myself that these guys probably had great houses and fancy cars--so in other words I was just interested in their possessions, not their professions.

Well, in that case, I might as well be envious of dictators, gangsters, and drug cartel leaders, who also have lots of great stuff, even though they just happen to kill people to acquire it all.

I reminded myself that I also have several childhood friends or classmates who have died, so maybe I could better spend my time being grateful for single every day of life.

I felt relieved that I was able to admit my envious feelings because that’s the first step in driving them out.

Despite what the Wizard of Oz says, you really must pay attention to the man behind the curtain because that’s probably your subconscious mind trying to trip you up.

Envy is a poison pen letter that you write to yourself and nail to your heart.

We’re all walking different paths, so comparing ourselves to others is such a painful waste of time. You should only look to another person’s success for inspiration, not suffocation.

Focus on your own dreams, convert that envious energy into positive power, and who knows? People might start calling you Smiley, too.