The Green Light Across the Bay: Envy in The Great Gatsby
We always strive for the next best thing: the newest car, the Ivy College acceptance letter, and the new cologne that will undoubtedly convince your crush to give you a chance. Some may call it ambition, and others, like my economics teacher, would refer to it as the natural incentive of capitalism for us all to work harder. As a second-semester senior, I can testify that my PowerSchool dashboard certainly reflects the stagnation of a teenager with multiple college acceptances in hand. But even with an outcome that I have worked so hard for, I am still discontent with where I am. It’s easy to forget our blessings when overwhelmed with envy towards others and their perfect lives; after all, having a guardian angel seems far less appealing when their wings are smaller than those belonging to others you’ve seen before.
Reflecting on this inescapable envy, I couldn’t help but think back to The Great Gatsby, a novel I read for English class in the 10th Grade. While I couldn’t, and still can’t, perform a literary analysis on what F. Scott Fitzgerald’s purpose of the book was, I can’t help but recognize some of its characters continuing to roam our halls a century after the book’s publication. The ceaseless desire for success and its symbols embodied by characters in the book is alive and well today as envy remains rooted in our school through the mass publication of personal lives on social media and public flaunting of what others may not have, sending us all on the pursuit of unattainable success under the myth that it will cure all of our life’s woes.
The greatest source of envy for us is the Tom Buchanans of the school: the kings and queens. They’ve got it all: the Varsity red bag, the rich parents, the idyllic friend group, and the perfect grades. Most look at these individuals and assume they have it all–they don’t. Oftentimes, they’re simply projecting success to mask their insecurities. The picturesque group to hide their absent sense of self. The Instagram posts with their Daisy screaming, “She’s not Gatsby’s!” It’s truly a tragedy that the individuals people are so envious of are so commonly dissatisfied with their lives.
Commonly found lost in the wake of the Toms are our school’s Myrtles. Unlike the Toms, the Myrtles do not have it all but envy their utopian lives. For one reason or another, their successes may not be as apparent. Perhaps they struggle with their grades or just lack self-confidence. Whatever it is, they tirelessly chase the success and fortune of others, but to no avail. Myrtle’s tragic death at the hands of her lover, Tom, who she so desperately wanted to join the upper class, reflects the misplaced aspirations of these students. Rather than finding happiness in their identity, their envy for the Toms of the world drives them to aspire to become them. Ultimately, this leaves them unhappy and lacking a sense of self-identity.
Lastly, we have the peculiar Gatsbys. While success does not come naturally to them, they scrap and hustle for success until they attain it. Just as Gatsby built himself up from a poor farming family to throwing his lavish parties at the Mansion in the hope of becoming, these individuals work hard for their success. The stellar report card, the college acceptance letters: they earned it all. Despite all this, they never find the ultimate satisfaction they strive for. In The Great Gatsby, Jay Gatsby works restlessly for years to amass his vast wealth, all in the hopes that it will attract his true love and he will find happiness at least. However, it's never enough to satisfy him, and his dream life with Daisy remains slightly out of reach.
In our school, we strive for the highest levels of success in the hope of finding “supreme happiness,” but it always eludes our grasp. I have personally experienced this. Between the time I started this essay and now that I am writing its conclusion, I have gotten into my dream school. Throughout high school, I sacrificed immediate satisfaction and happiness to prioritize long-term success and presumptive happiness. The reasoning behind this was that all of my hard work would be worth it once I got into an Ivy League institution, just as my peers in grades ahead of me have. But now that I’ve gotten in, I am overcome with feelings of regret. Was it all worth it? Was it worth sacrificing the amazing experiences and people standing before me? In a hundred years since this novel’s publication, this lesson of envy remains the same: if we restlessly pursue the alleged bliss of tomorrow, we spoil the joy of today.