I have picture envy.
My nephew Erik takes incredible pictures. I don't. I don't have the patience or the equipment; he has both. I love his photos, and I see them in my mind sometimes, before he shows them to me. I see great pictures through the viewer screen of my own camera, too, but those pictures never get on the memory chip.
I have a little Nikon 10 byte snapshot camera. It was designed for memories, not greatness. Erik's camera system, lenses and all, probably cost as much as a small car (in America, not in Holland). And small cars are all I drive -- Kias, to be exact. I don't deserve anything better.
The same with cameras.
He has earned the right to use good stuff to take good stuff. It's his hobby, his vocation, his calling. He is an artrist with an artist's eye. I'm a poet and a writer. I use words. And you all know what they say about words in the "grand" scheme of things.
So I leave the photos and the dsrawings to him. I appreciate them, admire them, think about them, work them into my writing sometimes, display them in what I laughingly and lovingly call the Rutgers Art Gallery West.
I do envy him this gift, buit, of course, I have my own to share, so too bad for me, suck it up, and write!