The time I spent thinking about how I was better than somebody

Host: The barbershop was nearly empty, its familiar hum softened by the fading hum of the afternoon. Outside, the streets shimmered with heat — the kind of lazy Southern day where time itself seems to slow down, where everything important is learned not in motion but in reflection.

The radio in the corner played an old Charley Pride tune, scratchy but steady, that warm, gravelly voice filling the space between the buzz of clippers and the scent of talcum powder.

Jack sat in the barber’s chair, a cape around his shoulders, a faint smirk pulling at his mouth. Jeeny leaned against the doorway, arms folded, watching the slow dance of hair falling to the floor — soft as memory, final as truth.

Jeeny: “Charley Pride once said, ‘The time I spent thinking about how I was better than somebody else or worrying about somebody else's attitude was time I could put to better use.’”

Host: Jack glanced at her in the mirror — his grey eyes catching the fading light.

Jack: “Now there’s a man who understood regret.”

Jeeny: “Or maybe just growth.”

Jack: “Same thing, isn’t it? You grow because you regret.”

Jeeny: smiling softly “Sometimes. But sometimes you grow because you finally stop needing to compare.”

Host: The barber, an older man with steady hands and a lifetime of stories behind his eyes, paused to wipe his scissors clean, then resumed trimming — slow, rhythmic, unhurried.

Jack: “You ever notice how much time people waste on resentment? The competition that never ends — job titles, cars, followers, even smiles. Everyone trying to look a little taller by standing on someone else’s shadow.”

Jeeny: “That’s what Pride meant — that kind of thinking is a thief. It steals your peace. Your focus. Your joy.”

Jack: “It’s human, though.”

Jeeny: “So is envy. Doesn’t mean you have to feed it.”

Host: The fan in the corner clicked softly as it turned, blowing the scent of aftershave through the warm air. The sound of the scissors faded for a moment — only the music lingered, Pride’s voice humming low, ‘Kiss an angel good morning...’

Jack: “You know, when I was younger, I used to think competition made me sharper. Made me better. But lately…”

Jeeny: “Lately you realized it just made you tired.”

Jack: chuckling “Yeah. Worn out and empty.”

Jeeny: “Because success without grace turns into noise.”

Jack: “And grace without success turns into poetry.”

Jeeny: “Maybe that’s the kind worth keeping.”

Host: The barber chuckled quietly but said nothing. Years had taught him when to listen and when silence said enough.

Jack: “You know, I used to size people up the moment I met them. Who’s smarter, who’s stronger, who’s ahead. It was automatic. Like survival.”

Jeeny: “That’s because the world teaches us to measure worth instead of meaning. We call it ambition, but really, it’s fear wearing a nice suit.”

Jack: quietly “Fear of not mattering.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. So we start competing for validation instead of fulfillment.”

Host: The scissors snipped softly, steady and sure. The rhythm of the moment felt almost meditative — small sounds, big truths.

Jack: “And you think Pride figured that out before the rest of us.”

Jeeny: “He had to. He came up through a world that told him he didn’t belong, that his place was already defined. But he didn’t fight people — he fought his own bitterness. That’s how you win quietly.”

Jack: “By refusing to play the wrong game.”

Jeeny: “Yes. The moment you stop measuring yourself by other people’s yardsticks, you finally start building your own world.”

Host: The barber brushed away the last loose strands from Jack’s neck. The air felt lighter — cleaner somehow.

Jack: “You know, it’s strange. The older I get, the less I want to be ‘better than.’ I just want to be good at.”

Jeeny: “At what?”

Jack: pausing “At being present. At working. At loving without needing to win.”

Jeeny: “Then you’re already ahead of most.”

Host: The barber spun the chair slowly, letting Jack face himself in the mirror. The man who looked back wasn’t the same one who had walked in — not because of the haircut, but because of the reflection behind it.

Jeeny: “You see, Jack, comparison’s a game with no finish line. You keep running, but the race keeps moving. Pride figured out that the only real victory is peace — and you can’t win peace by competing.”

Jack: “So you just stop caring?”

Jeeny: “No. You start caring differently. You stop trying to outshine and start trying to understand.”

Jack: “And what about the people who wrong you?”

Jeeny: “You forgive them — not for their sake, but so they don’t own your time anymore.”

Host: Jack smiled faintly, looking down, his hands resting easy on his knees.

Jack: “You always make it sound so simple.”

Jeeny: “It’s not simple. It’s discipline. Letting go takes more strength than holding on.”

Host: The radio changed songs, a softer tune now, the kind that belongs to the background but somehow carries the whole scene.

Jack: “You know, maybe that’s what getting older is — realizing the best use of your energy isn’t proving your worth, it’s preserving your peace.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. The more time you spend proving, the less time you spend being.”

Host: The barber nodded quietly, approving, as if he’d heard this same truth a thousand times before in a thousand different words.

Jeeny: “Pride’s right, you know. The time you spend judging others is time stolen from your own becoming.”

Jack: “And worrying about their attitude?”

Jeeny: grinning “That’s just unpaid emotional labor.”

Jack: laughing softly “Then I quit the job.”

Host: Jeeny smiled — the kind of smile that comes from watching someone finally set down what’s been heavy for too long.

The camera lingered on the mirror — Jack’s reflection steady now, clear, content.

Outside, the day had begun to cool, the sun hanging low over the horizon, painting everything in honey and rust. The song on the radio faded into silence.

And as the light dimmed, Charley Pride’s words seemed to hum through the quiet, as steady as the heartbeat of wisdom earned late but true:

That life isn’t measured by how much brighter you shine than others,
but by how much warmer your light feels when you stop competing.

That comparison wastes what creation could have been.

And that peace — quiet, humble, golden peace —
is the prize waiting
for those who finally learn
to put their time to better use.