I Vowed To Stop Judging. How’s That Working Out For Me?

Be a lot easier if people weren’t such . . .whoops. There I go again!

I’m a believer in making resolutions. I have to keep making them because I keep breaking them. I’m the person the cliche was named after, the one paving the road to hell with good intentions. I could start my own construction company when it comes to slapping new rules for myself on those byways to Hades.

I started my 8th level with a vow to cut back on the side-eye (and snarky thoughts) I shoot at my fellow humans.

If you didn’t read that attempt to clean up my act, I’ll just leave it here so you can see the lofty pedestal I hefted my ambitious self up on back in the day.

Last week, I had my twice-yearly (semi or bi-annual, I always get them confused) check-up with my cardiologist, and he gave me a thumbs up. With a little luck, I still have some time to get it together, judgmentally speaking.

I still go around making unkind pronouncements about the man-and woman-on the street.

What, did you think just because I added Think happy thoughts to my to-do list I was going to turn into another Mother Theresa all of a sudden?

I’ve heard even that sainted do-gooder had a few rough edges. But, you see? There I go, throwing shade about Mother T to make myself look good as I explain how hard it is to straighten up and fly right.

Why is it so hard to undo the critical urge?

Was I born with a snarky gene? Criticizing is so ingrained in me, I had to make my resolution public in that post to see if that would turn me into a goody-two-shoes. So, I went the mea culpa route in an effort to get a handle on my bad habit.

It’s been almost three months since I’ve walked around as a full-fledged octogenarian promising to add sunshine and peaceful vibes to this tortured world. Time for an evaluation to see how I’m doing.

Should I kick the bucket tomorrow, wouldn’t you like a glimpse at my report card to see if I’d pass go and sail directly to the heavenly pastures? Or will my black marks consign me to some dark corner of the universe to spend eternity making amends for my errant ways?

I‘m dead serious about my promise to do better.

I want to rid myself of negative thoughts, but not because I’m worried about an afterlife accounting. I’m doing this because it’s the way I want to live. Negativity and burning our neighbors only hurts ourselves, unless we’re out and out thugs and back up our put-downs with violence.

But I’m a lover, not a fighter; I keep my nasty thoughts to myself. And it’s there that they do damage to my peace of mind and sense of self. My judging thoughts are a scourge on my mood; they can stink up the neighborhood, my psychological, mental and spiritual environment.

But changing your mindset is not as easy as deciding to slow down in a school zone.

So many of our thought patterns run on automatic cruise control. Ask me how I know. Retraining the brain requires a lot of mindful attention to perform the simple act of noticing when we are mentally attacking unsuspecting passengers on the bus for their speech or attire, much less piling on our disapproval of the contents of the shopping cart in front of us in the grocery store.

The man with the big belly loading up on beer and chips? C’mon, who among us wouldn’t like to curl our upper lip in disdain and ask him if his doctor just put him that health food diet?

I’m not mean enough to say something like that out loud. Or courageous enough to own up to my thoughts in public. But, yeah, that stuff catches me unawares. With all that I have on my plate, that’s where I let my mind wander? Me, hiding cookies behind the box of oatmeal in my cupboard?

You get the picture. I’m trying to turn around the impulse to gossip about other people’s lifestyles, choice of dress or hairstyle, or political leanings.

My favorite parlor game for the past too many decades has been to amuse myself with snarky one-liners as I ride public transportation or sit in waiting rooms or movie theaters and weigh in on the flawed human specimens around me.

And how much money has that made me? How many friends over the years? More to the point, how much happiness do I really get from making other people look small in my mind? Do the math.

But yet I sally forth, day after day, good intentions in mind, and find myself falling into the same stupid thought habits.

They can grab a perfectly decent mood and turn me into a grouch, and who’s to say my estimation of someone else’s life is on target. Walk a mile in my shoes and all that.

Still, look at what I have to work with, these people around me who offer themselves up as fodder for my sarcastic or cruel twist of mind. How do I rein in my impulses when there’s so much rich material at my fingertips, neighbors, both on the street and online just waiting for my superior verdict on their behavior?

But I guess if this were an easy task, we’d all have nailed it by now. We’d be flinging rosebuds at each other instead of barbs.

But I’m not going to let the degree of difficulty stop me. I’m nothing if not up for a last challenge. I have time for one last renovation of my character before it’s set in stone, and my daughter scatters the ashes of my intentions to the wind.

How do you regard the jerks of the world when you vow not to be a judgy-ass judger?

Okay, first a thousand points for the first person to catch the two slams in that title, but let’s move on. I quickly realized a couple of things when I went public with my decision to clean up my act.

First, I needed guidelines. How do I handle thoughts about bad people who’ve committed bad acts? Was I not going to allow myself to call them out on their cruelty or stupidity or out-right criminality?

Please, that would be dumb-fuckery. I can’t give up my standards. I’m not one of those spiritual masters who sits on a mountain top and smiles benevolently down at the foolhardy, disordered masses, meditating until my soul reunites with the great cosmos.

Godspeed to those who do, but I can’t close my eyes to the wrong-doers around me.

People who abuse the public trust will always set my blood boiling. Abusers of all stripes for that matter. But a funny thing about those triggers. If you let them, they set can set off a tsunami of negativity in your head.

So I’m working on overcoming knee-jerk responses that lead to those negative loops that accomplish nothing. I’m looking at you, corrupt politicians.

I’ve developed an agenda. I take action where I can take action. Protests, letters to relevant legislators, voting. Otherwise, I’ve pulled back from rages against the man. I just don’t see the value in that, useless chiming in on vitriolic social media feeds. The ballot box and letters to people in power, resistance where and when I think it will do good. Done and dusted for politics that can take over my head.

As far as everyday snotty thoughts go, just becoming aware I have this agenda is an interesting process.

Nobody’s going to nominate me for sainthood anytime soon, but I have an overseer now, who accompanies me on my trips into the public arena.

This busybody takes care of reminding me when I’m not just noticing the interesting people around me but sounding off on them in my brain. Getting all puffed up about how superior I am to them in some way, or how beneath me they are. Because that’s what judging is about, securing our position in the world, even if it’s just in the quiet of our negative thoughts.

It’s not much, but since this is my gig, I’m going to consider it a win. Instead of putting my brain on autopilot, I’m doing better at noticing how often I cast aspersions on those around me.

Truth to tell, I liked it better when I gave myself free rein to be a dick.

That felt freer, sitting up on that superior perch. Now I get these uncomfortable pinches from this stick-in-the-mud voice in my head. The one who says, there you go again after I’ve just shot a scathing look at the woman prancing down the street in last year’s stilettos she hasn’t yet learned to walk properly in without looking like she’s slipping and sliding on dog poop. You think that’s a good look, sweetie?

Ouch, where’d that poke in my ego come from?

Maybe this discomfort at noticing just how often I am a judgy-assed judger is merely a pitstop on the road to sainthood.

Next year I’ll pass her and think, Now there’s an interesting combination, plaid skirt, polka dot blouse, and polyester sweater with a button missing. Maybe she’s fallen on hard times. Giving her the benefit of the doubt.

See, no shade there. Something to aspire to. No need to mention, I wouldn’t be caught dead in that outfit, girlfriend, and I buy my clothes at the thrift store.

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