Why does it feel good to judge others sometimes?

How judgment can offer information about our desires and Sheila Heti book GIVEAWAY

I also am asking for a little grace, I have RSV at the moment, and my brain is all a fog…

I can’t tell you what this is about. I cannot tell you why I can’t tell you what this is about. I can only tell you what I am feeling in hopes that if you are feeling like you are a bad person, I think it is often more complicated than we think.

This is going to be a short essay just to share some things that I have been mulling over—it is the season to feel guilty. Does anyone else feel guilty in the fall and winter? It is coming at us in all directions, along with other emotions, of course. But I wanted to share something with you that was making me feel a little bit more ok with who I am.

Last week, I got some news. Not really new news, but news nevertheless. It was something that I feel like most people would judge me negatively for. Maybe it feels like I got caught in the act… like taking candy from a baby. Or throwing garbage out your car window (even if it is biodegradable). Or putting non-recyclables in the recycling bin.

I operate on the idea that if I don’t understand someone’s actions, the assumption I make is that I am missing some part of their story. This in some ways makes a claim that all actions are understandable when placed into a context. It doesn’t make them all good. But understandable. Like when someone is speeding on the highway and cuts you off, I like to think maybe they are just about to have a baby in the backseat and are in a rush to the hospital.

When I have said this before, some people get really upset. And I understand that. Broadly speaking it makes sense in the context of, say, stealing a loaf of bread to feed one’s family. But it is harder to understand in instances, say, of violence. Neither thing is ok. But they could seem to be reflective of a greater issue, or a need that is not being met by a society of people who are claiming to be good people, caring people.

Now, I am not saying that we are all telling ourselves that we are good people when actually we are not… even though I feel that way about myself. I desperately want to be a good person. I am saying that perhaps we don’t always acknowledge the limits of perception and that we may not intend to be the problem, but that sometimes we are both the solution and the problem.

So this thing happened, I am definitely in the wrong, but I felt my mind trying desperately to fill both narratives of being a bad person and a good person at the same time. Feeling like I am a good person, but also the reality is that most would tell me I was a bad person, and that I made an irresponsible choice. But was it really?

Are you a judgmental person?

I would say we all are. Judgment is forming opinions about other people (note: the “other people” we do it to can be ourselves, too, obviously, and there might be a link between they way we judge ourselves and others). Placing judgment on others is a way humans try to situate themselves in the community. In a society of people needing each other to survive, we need meaning to keep going, and judgment is part of that. I have held negative judgments on people who didn’t deserve them. I try really hard to think about what this is saying about me and my value system. Oftentimes, I am wrong about them. And it really is something about the anxiety I am having. A fear that I have… and one that I am projecting onto them.

Sometimes though, it feels oddly good to be judgmental of others. And this delight scares me. The part where something deep inside of me wants to feel like I am better than others. I know I am not. But on some level, making a judgment feels like a confirmation that I am. Like an elevating societal force.

I don’t think this is a good thing. But I also don’t think that I need to feel bad about it. It is something I have learned to do, and in acknowledging it, and using the feeling as information, I feel like I can pinpoint more accurately why these feelings might be coming up. Or that is the story I am telling myself to feel better when I am in a judgmental state.

All of this is to say, I felt this impulse to hide my news. To not share it for fear that people would find out that I am a bad person, confirming my fears. But when I thought about it more, I really did think that if I was them, I would want to be there for me. Regardless. Maybe they would be judgmental, but that would also probably be saying more about them than me anyway.

To be continued…

---

This week, I am interviewing Sheila Heti. Her book Motherhood changed me. I spent years literally agonizing about if I could be both a mom and an artist, and even though Sheila and I come to different decisions, her book made me feel so much less alone in my thoughts. I have only just started reading her latest book, Pure Colour. A book that is super hard to describe. Her website describes it as:

Pure Colour is a galaxy of a novel: explosive, celestially bright, huge, and streaked with beauty. It is a contemporary bible, an atlas of feeling, and an absurdly funny guide to the great (and terrible) things about being alive. Sheila Heti is a philosopher of modern experience, and she has reimagined what a book can hold.

Here we are, just living in the first draft of Creation, which was made by some great artist, who is now getting ready to tear it apart.

In this first draft of the world, a woman named Mira leaves home to study. There, she meets Annie, whose tremendous power opens Mira’s chest like a portal—to what, she doesn’t know. When Mira is older, her beloved father dies, and his spirit passes into her. Together, they become a leaf on a tree. But photosynthesis gets boring, and being alive is a problem that cannot be solved, even by a leaf. Eventually, Mira must remember the human world she’s left behind, including Annie, and choose whether or not to return.

I have two copies to send out, if you are interested in receiving one, comment here:

So far, I would say that Pure Colour is a portrait of existence. An expansion of understanding of what being alive feels like at this moment. One could argue that all books are reflections of the times, but this one does so in theory and also in practice. It talks to my deepest worries and explains them elegantly and with nuance. That life is just so beautiful, despite all the pain. I hope you enjoy it.

She also sent me a copy of A Garden of Creatures. But I can’t give it away. It gently talks about death in a way that all faiths can relate to. My mother-in-law read it and loved it (she is Reformed Presbyterian), and I am agnostic and found comfort. I am secular but feel a deep commitment to finding a common language for the human condition. And reason for being.