Slippery Slope Of Judgement
How can it be that we think less of someone or ‘think we are better than’… even for a moment? Have we seen life through their eyes? Do we have even an inkling of what life looks like from their position?
These were questions I had to ask myself, as I witnessed that I had fallen down the slippery slope of judgment. In hindsight, I can laugh. I took my lesson, learned this fundamental personal
leadership quality and… the outcome is not one I will ever forget!
It was during my ‘hippy years’. You know those days of peace, love and rock n’ roll. My motto was ‘live and let live’ and that in itself makes my easy ability to judge that much more ironic. Certainly it was time I learned a lesson.
Having just moved out of a religious commune, I travelled north to visit one of my brothers. I loved him dearly and hadn’t seen him for a number of years. We were to have a couple of wonderful days together catching up. He was an actor and I was looking forward to seeing the stage production he was performing in.
After his show on the Saturday night we were attending a party with his fellow actors. It was the birthday of one of the women from the cast, and about 40 actors and crew members were meeting to celebrate with her.
It was a somewhat energetic group of revellers, and the Greek restaurant we descended on seemed ready for them. More prepared than I was! My life had been very low-key over the past few of years and I was pretty much a teetotller. The refreshments of choice going around the table were definitely not tea. I chose a seat near the end of the tables, satisfied to largely stay out of the action.
The party level continued to rise for a number of hours… eating, drinking, and definitely being merry, and the end of the night was drawing close. It was kind of like a last party trick when this large drunken man got up and took the center of the floor. He couldn’t be overlooked… weaving and wearing a big stupid grin plastered beneath his big bald head, and making enough noise for a small army. Really not a pretty sight. He was just steady enough to balance an enormous stack of plates in one hand, while he grasped a single one in the other. The Greek restaurant tradition of smashing plates was no doubt on the program. He started breaking down through the plates… crack, crack, crack. The ceramic fell all about him and skidded across the floor from his drunken stupor.
He got down to the final single plate. After a dazed look of bewilderment, an even more spectacularly stupid grin broke out on his face. He immediately thrust the plate over his head, and smash… down it came onto his bare skull. Slightly dazed and now with a jagged smile, a rivulet of blood started running down the side of his face.
I stared at this performance with repulsion… definitely judging him and feeling he was as stupid as he looked. Even though I obviously thought I was better than him, I didn’t feel good. I was ready to go home.
The following day my brother and I reassessed the party. He told me then that this drunken performer was one of his closest friends. He had cancer and had been undergoing chemotherapy, hence the bald head. He’d been soldiering on, determined not to let it interfere with his career.
Even though he needed a daybed in the theatre for rests between his stage appearances, he was not giving up. The party was an opportunity to let off some steam, knowing he was among understanding friends.
Well… he had been mostly among friends that night. I admitted that I was the one who had been the idiot, not him. The judgments fell away. My heart opened and I sent out compassion, acceptance, and caring. This felt good. I was offering something worthwhile.
It was about 10 years later that I again met with this man. I had transplanted myself to the city my brother lived in, and as they were friends, we again saw one another. Over the coming weeks we found ourselves often at the same social outings, dinners, and theatre productions. We
found that we actually had a lot in common, and quite liked one another. In fact, we very much liked one another.
About a year and a half later, in the manner of the true gentleman I now understood him to be, he asked my father if he could ask for my hand in marriage.
True, I could clearly recall the evening in the Greek restaurant, just as clearly as I could remember who the real idiot had been. This person was an absolute gift to me. One that I would have certainly missed if I had remained blindly in judgment. Fortunately I took a chance with the belief that he was a loving human being.
Within the year we rejoiced at our wonderful wedding in a park in the Rockies, and the reception… certainly not at a Greek restaurant!
Whenever I feel judgment creeping in, it’s a powerful reminder for my personal development. It’s time to ask what it might be concealing. What is it blinding me to? What are the riches, if only I can get a clear view. They’re there… waiting.
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