Not Judging

But.

I struggle with being judgmental. After all, I’m a human being and so a lean, mean judging machine. Okay, not so lean. And, really, not so mean.

A case can be made for linking judgments to staying alive, Survival 101. Dangerous adversary or welcoming friend? Edible mushroom or poisonous? Spring rain or late season blizzard?

More to the point, I am thinking of less dramatic situations, rather more of the smaller exchanges we have with one another. For example, I tell a friend how much I love raw oysters. My friend makes a face distorted by disgust and spits out “I hate oysters!”

Now I could be playing either role, positive statement made or the negative rebuttal. Here’s what is slowing me down—when I manage to slow myself down. Doesn’t my judgment—my sharing of an opposing opinion—add a little toxicity to the exchange?

Let me stop right here, I know how this can go discussion-wise: Jeez, put your big boy pants on, you might say. People are going to disagree. Got it.

But what if the psychological stakes are higher and what the person shares is more significant than whether rutabaga ought to be considered a food? Am I listening in non-judgmental fashion, or can I hardly wait to wade in, especially with a negative take?

Here’s the kicker for me. Did the person ask for my opinion? Truth: hardly ever.

Besides, how often I plow forward without having any real understanding of another’s situation, the circumstances, the background. I own 64-years of judging, evaluating, opining, pontificating, and as soon as the other person takes a breath, I’m putting on the robe and bringing out the gavel.

Not judging? Oh, yes I am.

Note to self: Shut up, and listen.