Duchess Kate is my age. MY. AGE.
My social media feed is inundated today with one piece of news: Kate Middleton is 34 years old.
I realize that there are many, many, many, many other things on which I could/should be focusing. Like the fact that humans have thrust the planet into a new geological epoch. Or that a Muslim woman was escorted out of a Hatred Trump
s Compassion rally.
Instead, I'm sitting here comparing myself to a princess.
Because I'm also 34 years old, which obviously means that my life's trajectory is supposed to be along the same relative path as other 34-year-olds, and in my fueled-by-pop-culture mind, the Duchess of Cambridge is a prime example of a "typical" woman in her almost mid-thirties.
Seeing the story first thing in the morning, even before my morning cup of tea, I was especially vulnerable to the Comparison Trap. I have a 9-5 job in an industry that I really don't care about. She has the opportunity to make a real impact with her passions, on a global level. I have all of these Plans, most of which get pushed to the side because I get overwhelmed at the thought of doing them all, so I end up stalling out and doing nothing. She can do what she wants, when she wants.
Or can she? Let's think about that.
Can she go out on a PMS-driven Taco Bell binge without a paparazzo snapping a picture of her with a burrito in her mouth? Can she go out at all without having her wardrobe, weight, hair, makeup, shoes, and facial expressions analyzed? Can she really do anything she wants, or do her plans have to be sanctioned by the Royal Hierarchy and its shared Google Calendar?
I imagine not.
Happy Birthday, Duchess of Cambridge. I wish you all the best, I really do. Let me know if you need me to discretely overnight you a burrito.
P.S. Beyoncé is also 34 years old. In fact, our birthdays are just six days apart. B really can do anything she wants. Because she's not a princess, she's a Queen.