On Instant Judgment

In recent years, I have taken to not judging something too quickly or not judging it all. I guess this change originated from my desire in the aftermath of my personal extinction to have people not judge me instantly or not at all. Since then, that desire has worked out about 50 percent of the time. Thank you to the 50 percent that withheld.

As an example of withholding judgment, not too long ago, I observed approximately 100 people in their 20s and 30s, playing some kind of Dark Ages role-playing game in a public park during a cold and rainy Sunday afternoon.

There they were, dressed up in Dark Ages apparel, wielding foam swords and throwing foam spears, shooting rubber arrows, running around, fighting, charging, retreating, falling down, raising hell, laughing and cursing in Old English. I think some of them were drinking mead as well.

In the not so distant past, I would have thought these adults ridiculous for dressing up as squires and wenches and acting out fantasy battles.

But as I watched something quite the opposite occurred to me: these people were at least outside, in the rain, having fun, using their imaginations, off their phones and computers, off their asses, and creating their own entertainment for their own consumption.

In the old days, If I had seen someone sitting on a drift log at the ocean and fiddling on their phone, I would have considered that person sad or pathetic. They were addicted and couldn’t disengage. They were ignoring the waves and gulls.

Now, if I saw such a sight, I might think: at least someone was at the ocean. Maybe they were playing hooky from a terrible job in a cubicle and the phone enabled the ruse. Maybe this person was engaging in a form of solitude I couldn’t imagine but was a form of solitude nonetheless.

Also, in the old days when I was teaching, I used to harangue students who brought Lunchables into the classroom for breakfast or lunch. I’d say how terrible these were for the body and planet, etc., etc. It wasn’t until much later that I realized that this was the only food in these students’ homes or apartments or RVs. Or it was the only thing a working or absent parent or parents had time to prepare. Or it was the only meal the student knew how to purchase at a convenience store and bring to school.

When and where my Lunchable change of mind came about, I no longer recall. But I truly wish I could apologize to certain former students for this judgment.

I hope I always retain the ability to change my mind. To keep probing my preconceptions, to never accept received wisdom or engage in lazy judgmental thinking of my own invention or generated by an organization’s agenda.