Me? Judgmental?

We are judging almost all the time. Most of it so automatic, we don’t even notice.

“This is good.”
“That’s annoying.”
“She shouldn’t have said that.”
“I like him.”
“I don’t trust that.”

It happens fast. Quiet. Constant.  Now, in all honesty some judgment is useful. Is it raining? Grab a coat. Does this feel unsafe? Pay attention. That’s intelligent discernment not unexamined judgment.

Much of what we call “judgment”  is the mind being just plain judge-y.  Formed from past experiences. Shaped by culture. Influenced by stories we didn’t even realize we were absorbing.

From a brain science perspective we are wired for this. Our brains lean toward negativity bias, scanning for problems and threats.  Not because something is wrong with us but because, historically, that’s what’s kept us alive.

The challenge is to recognize that what once kept us safe now often keeps us stuck. This is where the practice of mindfulness comes in.

Mindfulness doesn’t ask us to stop judging - that would be another thing to judge ourselves about. It simply invites awareness, to notice: “Oh… look at that. A judgment just walked in.”

And then to become curious instead of certain. Huh? Where is that coming from? Is it true? Is it really true? Is this helpful for me or anyone? That small pause is where insight and freedom begins.

One of the most powerful mindfulness practices is referred to as “beginner’s mind” or “I don’t know mind.” It sounds simple, but it’s not easy.  It invites us to loosen our grip on:

right/wrong
good/bad
like/dislike
us/them

And stand, ever so briefly, in the space of: “I don’t know.” Not as confusion, but as openness. Not as weakness, but as wisdom.

Because in the space of beginner’s mind we see more clearly. We react less quickly. We become just a bit more human with each other.

The following poem is a beautiful reminder of just how quickly the mind jumps to conclusions and how humbling it can be to see clearly, even a moment too late.

The Cookie Thief

by Valerie Cox

A woman was waiting at an airport one night, with several long hours before her flight. She hunted for a book in the airport shops, bought a bag of cookies and found a place to drop.

She was engrossed in her book but happened to see, that the man sitting beside her, as bold as could be. . .grabbed a cookie or two from the bag in between, which she tried to ignore to avoid a scene.

So she munched the cookies and watched the clock, as the gutsy cookie thief diminished her stock. She was getting more irritated as the minutes ticked by, thinking, “If I wasn’t so nice, I would blacken his eye.”

With each cookie she took, he took one too, when only one was left, she wondered what he would do. With a smile on his face, and a nervous laugh, he took the last cookie and broke it in half.

He offered her half, as he ate the other, she snatched it from him and thought… oooh, brother. This guy has some nerve and he’s also rude, why he didn’t even show any gratitude!

She had never known when she had been so galled, and sighed with relief when her flight was called. She gathered her belongings and headed to the gate, refusing to look back at the thieving ingrate.

She boarded the plane, and sank in her seat, then she sought her book, which was almost complete. As she reached in her baggage, she gasped with surprise, there was her bag of cookies, in front of her eyes.

If mine are here, she moaned in despair, the others were his, and he tried to share. Too late to apologize, she realized with grief, that she was the rude one, the ingrate, the thief.

May this story nudge your awareness just enough to catch a judgment as it forms, to soften around it and every now and then to step into the quiet, spacious place of:

“I don’t know.”

In-Joy the not-knowing,
Debbie