I can’t compete with the image of celebrities in our world. I don’t have the perfect look, the chiselled body, the perfect 6 pack, the swept hair and the airbrushed photos. I don’t own the best clothes, the most expensive labels or the most current look.

I can’t compete with the size of houses that the young adults in One Tree Hill live in. I don’t have the massive driveway, the lovely veranda and the huge welcome area. I don’t have bedrooms bigger than most people’s houses or the Range Rover size cars that all of them seem to drive. I won’t look as good first thing in the morning or be able to go out to dinner every single evening.

I can’t compete with the poetic speeches delivered by men to their lovers in Romantic Comedy films. I don’t flow with my words as well as them, have the perfect lines written for me, or have an accompanying orchestra to give my words more power. I won’t be as funny as Adam Sandler or as mysterious as Channing Tattum.

And I can’t compete with the perfect lifestyle that gets fed to us from Holywood. I won’t be able to be as creative with my dates because I can’t hire a jet ski at a moment’s notice, walk down Central Park when I feel like it, or buy a new piece of jewellary every week. I don’t own a boat, can’t afford a table at the most expensive restaurants, or turn up at the best parties.

I can’t compete with the perfect look, the perfect homes, the perfect words, or the perfect lifestyle. I can’t compete and I’m tired trying to. Perhaps you are too.

I can’t compete…but I can be content.

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