How Do You Judge Non-judgmentally?
After a dismal drop shot, Lew threw his voice, “How do I stop judging?!” and then his tennis racket over the fence. Frustration was his sugar – a legal addiction. Getting over himself was his hurdle.
I yelled toward the other court, “Heads up!” What stimulated Lew’s dangerous display? What didn’t he like about that shot? That he plopped it into the net? That he didn’t see the ball? Or that his previous shot had compromised his effort to place the perfect drop shot? What triggered the loss of his honor?
While walking together to retrieve the racket and give a humble apology, I asked, “Why would you want to stop judging?”
“Everybody says it’s bad,” he voiced, with his tincture of sarcasm.
“That’s a reason to stop something you do so well?”
“Funny,” he deadpanned. “If I stop judging, I wouldn’t throw my racket.”
“Are you sure? How do you know?”
He contemplated. “I don’t.”
The hurled racket was alone on the court; no need to ask for forgiveness this time.
“What if you unravel your judgments?”
He looked with head-tilt curiosity. “How can I be critical without feeling bad about myself?”
“Is that what we need to disengage? Your narcissism?” I asked.
Back on the court, I requested, “Hit some tennis balls and observe.”
“The first thing I observe,” he panted while hitting the twentieth shot, “is how bad my shots are.”
In half-smile disbelief, I asked, “Is that an observation?”
“I observed judgmental, self-righteous narcissism.” He laughed alone and took a deep breath. “Erase that. Give me another chance.”
Wiping the imaginary slate clean, I fed him a few more balls. He voiced a sober awareness, “I was calmer and hit more shots on the strings.”
“Observation?”
“Uncomfortable – but an observation.”
“You don’t like observing?”
“So far it’s so-so.”
“This is unknotting: Lew learns about what twists him up so he can untie and undramatically release his self-expression,” I paused, “rather than exercising your testosteric racket-tossing precision.”
“I’m thinking,” Lew posed, “what if judgment is less punishing?”
“Good question. Would you be willing to allow yourself to have fun judging?”
“That’s an oxymoron.”
“Absolutely, but will you? Just observe what happens when you hit balls having fun.”
After about fifty shots he realized, “Fun for fun’s sake is light and fun.”
“Not uncomfortable?”
His head lowered.
“Disappointed?”
“Sort of. I already miss the weight of my judging. Fun’s way too… ”
“Fun,” I completed his thought. “You’re a few steps ahead of me. Hit some more; this time verbally judge each shot with the same lightness you sensed when you were funning.”
“Terrible; horrible; yuggg; disgusting; oy-yoy-yoy…” Grimmer and grimmer. I reminded him, “Have your judgments and have fun.”
“How!!!!???” he screamed.
“We all do it different. Maybe stop caring. I love my judgments, but most of the time I’m not attached to them – they change so fast. Laugh at them; humor might help once you accept you can’t do anything with them now that the shot’s over.”
“Slow down.”
“Speech done. Hit the next shot and judge freely.”
He didn’t move or swing at the ball. “What does that mean?” I figured his freeze-frame moment was about perfection. If his ducks weren’t in a row, he couldn’t let go.
“Hit the ball and judge without limiting it to grim. Observe what happens.”
Lew hit a few lackluster shots. “I’m afraid.”
“Of?”
“Making a decision. That’s nuts; I make them all day.”
“For your business; not for your self. This next shot’s for you.”
“I don’t want to make a mistake.”
“Your guard is up before you hit the ball?”
“I’m not preparing to hit my shot; I’m prepping to judge my future mistake.”
“So you’re poised to judge before the next opportunity’s coming toward you?”
“Obviously before I even wake up.”
“Now we’re unraveling.”
