Judgement

Exactly why do we do it? We fear it, and we take such pleasure in the cruelty of judging others. Did she do it right? Did he say it wrong? Who said what is right or wrong? You guessed it, we did. It's like a spit of emotional poison - something somebody told us - one day when we were happy doing our thing - dancing around - and then out it came: "Jeez, stop it! You can't move at all - like a bear! Look at your butt - it's fat! You'll never make it to the stage!" Who said it? Doesn't matter. What matters is we suddenly looked in the mirror, and all happiness was sucked out of us. All dreams of being a prima ballerina, of weightless joy - all came crushing down into the ugliness of our elbows, the size of our behind, the heavy steps and awkward lines. That was it - we never tried dancing around again. We learned to suppress our emotions, and bingo - we came out as an obedient adult who forgot how to have joy and live life. Who looks left and right before making every step - being careful, being proud - but missing something. Missing that spontaneity. Why? Because of the fear, the fear of being judged.

Well, forget it. Let go of it - live! Who cares what people say? Why does it matter? Is it them doing something? Nope. It's you doing something, it's me doing something - so what's their business in having the say in the matter? None. Will they ever get what I do and why I do what I do? Nope. Why? Because they are not me, and never were, never will be. So no matter how hard I will try to explain, they still won't get it. You know how your real friends get tested? They are the people who simply take you as is, without judgement - for your actions, your decisions, your way of living. The rest of the people fall off. Is it hard listening to them ridicule your every step? Yes, it is. It's more of the poison down your throat, as if you didn't have enough, carrying it inside since you were a kid, since the first bully in school called you a name of punched you in the stomach, the first date dumped you, the first teacher called you stupid. You know why we do it? We all participate in the misery club - somebody told us that we suck - and we hurry to take it off our shoulders and put it on someone else - and on it goes in circles - it's much more fun to be miserable together. Until someone breaks it and gives back love, without asking for anything in return. Guess what happens then? We wonder. We don't take it at first, we are suspicious. Why do you love me? Are you sure you love me? You really don't have a hidden agenda? Why did you pick me? There are plenty of other people out there. We keep pushing it away, not used to the idea. But then if we give in and decide to take it, we judge again, and others judge us - is it right? Should it be this way or that way? Should it be with this person or that person? Why now? Maybe you should wait? And on it goes.

And we give in, we believe they are true - all these opinions - but the only truth is - in that moment when we don't allow ourselves to experience love, we're miserable. If we're not careful, we join the misery club very quickly, jump back on the judgement wagon, pretend we are happy being judged and judging others. Because everyone is doing it, it feels natural and we're in good company. Heck, it's fun doing it! But it wears off quickly, and we're left with an emotional hole again, wondering why we dream of dancing and think we can never really do it, never make it a reality. We invent reasons, and we keep going forward with the life as we know it. We think - this is for crazy people, for people who don't have their stuff together - I am a respectable person, I should never go out of my way, I should plan for the future and pave myself a convenient path. To where? To a nice wooden box - because we all will end up in there sooner or later. The difference is - did you have good ride while at it? Or did you arrive safely, barely with a memory of having good quality fun? I choose to get beaten up by life, so that I can use out what I have, and, broken, worn out, but happy, taking my last breath, grin at life and say: "Boy, what a ride!"

Photo by Amy Clarke.