Overcoming Jealousy in SCA Creative Pursuits

The other day, I curled up with Anne Lamott’s Bird by Bird. It’s a book I’d been meaning to read for ages as writers everywhere recommend it and for good reason. Lamott makes the struggles of writing feel both universal and strangely comforting.

I was nodding along and agreeing with what she wrote. I even chuckeled at her humor when I hit the chapter on jealousy. Uh-oh.

Lamott well describes the deep, burning jealousy that can creep in. She writes how this happens when another writer has an idea that seems so much better than yours. She’s brutally honest and openly shares how it feels to watch someone else succeed. This is particularly challenging when you’re still stuck in the messy middle of your own creative process.

And suddenly, I wasn’t thinking about writing anymore. I was thinking about the SCA.

The Visible Ladder of the SCA

The SCA is a hobby built on learning. It’s about picking up skills, diving deep into research, and creating things just because they fascinate us. In theory, we should all be focused on our own journeys. We should be happily absorbed in whatever medieval rabbit hole has captured our attention this month.

But then there’s the award system.

Unlike the quiet, personal nature of learning, awards in the SCA are very public. Courts are held. Scrolls are read. Cheers are given. Suddenly, someone you’ve been working alongside is standing in front of the Crown. They are being recognized for the same thing you’ve been pouring your heart into, sometimes for years.

And there you are, still sitting in the audience.

Now, if you’re lucky, this is a joyful moment. You’re thrilled for them, beaming with pride, clapping the loudest and yelling “hazzah”. But sometimes, there’s a little voice whispering: Why not me?

Lamott calls this feeling “the green-eyed monster.” Let me tell you—it wears a really nice set of garb in the SCA.

The Politics of Recognition

Part of what makes SCA recognition so tricky is that advancement isn’t just about skill. It’s about visibility, reputation, timing, and, yes, politics.

Being good at something isn’t enough. You also have to be seen being good at it. People have to notice your work, speak about it, and recommend you. Every kingdom has its own customs. Every order has its own internal dynamics. Every reign has its own focus. Therefore, the process isn’t always fair.

For someone who’s been quietly perfecting their craft for years, the wait can be frustrating. And if recognition comes late—or never—it can sting.

Some people handle this gracefully. Others… well, let’s just say jealousy in the SCA isn’t a new phenomenon.

The Missing Badges of Learning

The problem is that the SCA lacks a structured way to acknowledge learning itself. We have awards for excellence, but not for progress.

Imagine if, instead of only recognizing mastery, we also handed out badges or token for learning milestones. Something small but meaningful—“Hey, you just completed your first research project! Here’s a token.” “You finally figured out that annoying embroidery stitch? Have a badge.”

It wouldn’t replace awards, but it might help balance the emotional weight of the system. Right now, it’s easy for people to feel like their work doesn’t matter unless it leads to recognition. But learning is valuable in its own right.

Making Peace with the Process.

As I sat there, with Bird by Bird still open in my lap, I realized something: jealousy is normal. It’s not fun, but it’s part of being human. The trick, as Lamott says, is not to let it consume you.

In the SCA, that means:

• Focusing on your own path instead of constantly measuring yourself against others.
• Celebrating what you’ve already accomplished instead of fixating on what hasn’t happened yet.
• Supporting others even when it stings.

And maybe—just maybe—recall that at the end of the day, we’re all nerds. And we take serious playing dress-up in a park.

Final Thought

Jealousy in the SCA is real. It is just like in writing, art, or any other pursuit where skill and recognition are on display. But the best thing we can do is shift our focus back to why we’re here in the first place. We are here to learn. We are here to create. We are here to enjoy the journey.

And if that little green-eyed monster shows up now and then? Hand it a cookie, tell it to sit in the corner quietly, and get back to having your fun.

After all, the awards, titles, and accolades are nice. However, the real prize is the knowledge, the friendships, and the sheer joy of making history come alive.