When my daughter Molly was nine, she and I were having a conversation about envy and jealousy. She was in one of those philosophical moods when she loved to talk about her views on everything. I asked her if she still felt envious of her older brother, Casey, as she had in the past. Molly had always struggled in her childhood, and he did not. She plunged right into the subject talking about the time in her life when she wanted to be him.

He had a favorite matchbox car that she grabbed a hold of one night and wouldn’t give it up until she finally broke down in tears confessing that she just wanted to be him. In her mind if she had this car, she would be able to transform herself. He had a much easier time with friends, with doing things he was asked, with life in general. His temperament allowed life to roll off his back. She was intense in every way.

That day, Molly told me about times she used to give Casey something she