Resentment

"Sometimes I resent the other stags," said the Stag.
"Because you're not as good as them," said the Rat.
"Who can you become without resentment?" said the Wren.

The River didn't resent.

You look at others who have what you don't.

More success. More ease. More natural talent. Better timing. Luckier breaks.

And you resent them for it.

Your instinct tells you it's because they don't deserve it—or because you're not good enough. The Rat confirms it: "They have it easier. You're falling behind. You're not as good."

But what if the resentment isn't about them at all?

What if you're using it—to justify staying small, to excuse not trying, to protect yourself from the risk of failing?

Resentment keeps you focused on them rather than on yourself. It makes their success about your failure. It traps you in a story where you're always measuring, always comparing, always justified in your bitterness.

Who would you be without it?

Not what would you achieve. Not what would change externally.

But who would you become if you stopped carrying the weight of comparison?

The energy you spend resenting what others have could be building what you want. The attention you give to their path could be shaping your own.

Resentment isn't information about them. It's information about what you're afraid to try.

The River doesn't resent other rivers. It just flows.

Stories from the Vltava