Envy the Things!
Why We Long for Objects—and What That Says About the Lives We Wish We Were Living
We usually think of envy as something we feel toward people—toward their success, their relationships, their lifestyle. But there’s a quieter, more peculiar kind of envy we don’t often admit to: the envy we feel toward things.
Not expensive things. Not luxury cars or diamond watches. I’m talking about the objects that seem to carry with them a kind of invisible gravity—the things that seem to have lived.
A worn-out leather journal. A pair of muddy hiking boots. An old film camera that looks like it’s been around the world. We don’t just admire these objects—we feel something deeper. A tug. A longing. A strange kind of envy.
Why?
Because we’re not envying the thing itself. We’re envying what it represents. The experiences we imagine it’s been a part of. The life it has touched.
That journal? It feels like it’s soaked up poetry in cafes across Europe. Those boots? They’ve seen mountaintops and backwoods trails. That guitar in the corner? Maybe it’s been played around bonfires and open windows and heartbreak.
When we envy these things, what we’re really saying is: I want more of that in my life. More presence. More adventure. More meaning.
The Mirror in the Object
Envy, in this form, isn’t toxic. It’s revelatory. It shows us what we care about. What we crave. What we feel disconnected from.
It acts as a mirror, reflecting not someone else’s life—but the life we’re not fully living. It says, Here’s something that matters to you. Here’s something you might be missing.
That’s a powerful realization.
Think about it: the last time an object stirred you—not to possess it, but to be it—what was underneath that? What kind of life did it suggest?
A pair of skis might symbolize freedom and risk. A stack of used cookbooks might signal warmth, nourishment, creativity. A vintage typewriter? A longing to write with intention, to slow down.
Envy points to desire. Not for things, but for the way of living those things imply.
Turning Envy Into Intention
Once we realize that, we can begin to use envy—not as a source of guilt or inadequacy, but as a compass.
Instead of asking “Why don’t I have that?”, we can ask, What does this thing represent that I want to experience? And then, How can I bring more of that into my life—not later, but now?
That dusty guitar might not just be a decoration. Maybe it’s time to learn three chords and play terribly and fall in love with music anyway.
That travel bag in the closet? Maybe it's not a relic. Maybe it’s a reminder to say yes to spontaneity, even if it’s just a weekend away.
Objects can become invitations—back to ourselves.
Someone Else Might Envy Your Things
There’s one more layer to this.
The very things you barely notice in your daily life—someone else might envy them. Your beat-up coffee mug. Your old sketchpad. That jacket you’ve worn into memory.
To someone else, those objects look like they’ve lived. They carry your story.
So maybe you’ve already been living parts of the life you long for. You’ve just been too close to see it.
So, the next time something small—a book, a bicycle, a piece of furniture—stirs up envy in you, don’t dismiss it. Get curious.
What part of you is trying to speak?
What does that object know that you want to learn?
And what if envy isn’t a weakness, but a message?
Not telling you to own more, but to live more.