I’ve realized something about myself that I never thought I’d say out loud:

I am officially jealous of a primate.

If you aren’t familiar with Punch the Monkey, let me catch you up.

Punch is a baby Japanese macaque, or snow monkey residing in a zoo in Tokyo.

He didn’t have the easiest start. His mother abandoned him.

He was an outcast, shunned by the other monkeys, and generally just struggling to find his place.

I felt just like Punch during my divorce, an outcast, struggling to find my place.

To help his confidence, his keepers gave him a stuffed animal from IKEA—

A plushie orangutan that looked just like him.

To help my confidence I drank my face off and begged the universe to bring my ex to his senses and run back to me.

Well, the world has been following Punch’s journey, and tonight on World News Tonight, they gave an update.

Punch has a girlfriend.

They showed Punch and his girl playing, rolling around, hugging, and—I kid you not—basically making out.

And as I watched this, I felt a familiar twinge. The sharp pain of jealousy.

I’m sitting here, alone, in my one-bedroom apartment—which is notably devoid of both IKEA stuffed animals and a partner—

I thought: Do I need to go to the Ikea warehouse?

Is a plushie the secret to finding a mate?

Because if Punch figured it out, I have some follow-up questions for the universe.

Usually, jealousy has such a bad reputation.

I was taught I should just be happy for everyone else and keep my own shit tucked away.

And don’t get me wrong—I am happy for them.

When I’m out doing things on my own (which is basically always) and I see a happy couple,

I recognize the twinge of envy.

And don’t get me wrong—I am happy for them.

I don’t wish them ill.

I don't want them to have less.

It's a confirmation that I still want more.

I’ve decided that my jealousy isn't a sign that I’m a bitter person.

It’s a reminder that I’m still plugged in.

If I didn't feel that little spark of "I want that," it would mean I’d given up.

But as long as I can look at a pair of monkeys and feel a little envious of their smooch, it means there’s still hope.

It means I still believe that my own "primate," so to speak, is out there somewhere.

And honestly? If it worked for Punch, there’s hope for the rest of us.