Tag: shame

Being Judgy Isn’t Cool

I’ve been called judgmental before, and that’s one of the labels that really stings. And, well, often labels that sting hurt because there’s some truth to them. I now cringe when I think of how my little in group talked about others in high school and college. What privileged elitists we were, or more likely, we wanted to be (remembering some of our non-elite backgrounds).

A fortnight lily Dietes bicolor – native to South Africa

Being judgmental does nothing but make me look bad, so I’ve spent a lot of years trying to un-learn that trait. I can say now that I deeply regret acting this way, and if anyone I was ever unkind to reads this, know I’m ashamed.

Squirrel would also be ashamed but he’s too busy eating.

Does that mean I’m little miss non-judgy now? I wish. Nope, I’m slightly-less-judgy old bat now. I know because I had an Easter lesson in humility today.

I am, by the way, back in Hilton Head, hoping all the horses are ok.

What’s that in the sky? ANOTHER blimp! I’m quite the blimp spotter! (Golf tournament was here)

Once I was settled in, talked to my stepsister, and ate a sandwich, I decided my back hurt from all that plane riding and sprinting from the end of Terminal A to the end of Terminal E in Charlotte. So, I went down to the hot tub.

There was a group of elderly people sitting nearby (definition: people older than me). Also as I arrived what appeared to be a distinguished older man with a much younger woman getting into the pool and acting all mushy and giggly. I thought the woman looked like a stereotypical trophy wife. I was feeling all superior and judgmental, floating around with my green hippie hair in a granny bun.

Gulls say I’m not superior.

I was so wrong. The couple came into the hot tub to warm up from the chilly pool. I found out they were there honoring her mother who had just died, who owned the condo membership. We had a lovely conversation, and talked about how weird families get after a death…blah blah.

Can I go hide with the pelicans?

As the woman (who turned out not to be significantly younger than her husband, just with good hair and makeup) left I heard her say how nice I’d been. That warmed my heart and at the same time drove home the old saying of not to judge a book by its cover.

I deserve to step on a jellyfish and get stung. Oh, wait, then I’d be cruel for hurting an innocent sea creature. Never mind.

I’m chastened. Geez! One reason I enjoy traveling is to get to know people who are different from me. I can’t do that if I’m putting them down in my head.

These volunteer pansies watched me silently, with judgy pansy faces.

Lesson learned, or at least reinforced. I hope to see these folks again this week, since they will be here.

Other highlights of the day were talking to a nice young man on the plane, getting the same friendly Gullah taxi driver I had last time, being remembered by two staff members, and getting a great book at the Austin airport. It’s called Eve and is a history of women’s bodies. It’s some of the best science writing for lay folks I’ve read in a while. The footnotes are funny sometimes but there are 100 pages of endnotes and references for the scholars.

Off to read my book and not judge its cover.

Shame and Call-out Culture

FIRST: I freely admit to being over 60 and that I became a feminist in the 70s. There are many reasons for people to be unhappy about those facts, but there they are. I did not grow up in a culture where it was considered a good idea to make sure that everyone in your social circle was very aware of any faux pas, poor word choice, or “moral” screw-up any other member of the group was unfortunate enough to commit. We called that gossiping, spite, just plain not being a good friend.

Oh no. She’s in a mood.

SECOND: Navigating society in a way that respects other people’s beliefs, cultures, preferences, and sore spots has never been easy. When I was a kid, it was polite to call darker-skinned Americans “negroes.” When “black” became preferred, some took longer than others to transition, but we did it, out of respect. Those of us who are not black, do our best to say “African-American” when relevant (knowing full well that not all dark-skinned neighbors identify that way).

When I was a kid I knew exactly TWO gay people, which I’d guess to be two more than most 60s kids. I’ve watched with awe and pleasure as stigmas have fallen away and people can express their gender and sexuality however makes them happy. What would my life have been like if I’d known “gender fluid” was an option? The point to this is that if you are still learning all these wonderful possibilities, you might mess up. Older people are human.

This guy is species fluid.
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