Last week I lost my focus and couldn’t figure out why.

At the café—even with coffee—I couldn’t write. I did the crossword puzzle, read my book, chatted with cafe regulars.

Floating around like a swarm of gnats was a feeling of failure and hopelessness that got existential at one point in a way it hasn’t for awhile.

Opening my crossword on my third day of inactivity, one source of anxiety hit me, in the form of yet another glowing review for the recently published book of a woman I know through parenting circles. I had been seeing reviews and Ads and the book itself in stores all week.

That same week I received two emails from another writer I know announcing her newly published book, “The most challenging and exhilarating endeavor of my career!” she said.

The news of these two women, roughly my age, publishing books at the same time—not their first books, but one of many books—reminded me of time passing, of death approaching, of what I saw as my meager writing output. A version of my reality at home, living with a writer who cranks out book after book, year after year.

In truth, I’m pretty happy with my progress when I don’t compare myself with others—but I do compare myself with others. I am easily rattled by personal dynamics and events around me. But then, who doesn’t get rattled?

Well, I could learn in this regard from Chris, who works to not get rattled, but it does take work. He would not have seen the emails touting the book at the beginning of his work period, for instance, because he would not have opened email then. That’s one way he gets stuff done.

In my associations with writer friends over the years, I have been supportive. I love knowing writers and am inspired by what they do. I buy their books and read their articles, and comment on them, like my sister, who loyally reads all my blog posts.

But these were not close friends, just acquaintances, and time for writing is short. The next day, before writing, I “Quit Mail,” to suppress any news coming in and acknowledged that I am competitive, sort of like the way I say confession in church, “in thought, word and deed," and let it go.

Then got back to work.