Learning how to not judge

Dear women sitting next to me at this quasi-french but very white American cafe,

You look like you’re my age. You look like you probably work in marketing and watch a lot of youtube videos about how to properly apply your blush. You seem nice enough, but I’m not sure we’d ever be friends. I’m a little annoyed that the only available seat is next to you and I feel a rush of superiority as I run through a quick list in my head comparing myself to you.

As I sit down, I hear “I know Iranian Jews, too” and my ears perk up. Not what I expected, I think and I already know that I’m not going to get my assignment completed. Not only because the music is too loud in here and the air conditioning is too aggressive, but because I will be eavesdropping on you now, curious where this is going, anticipating that you’ll be wrong and I’ll know better than you.

But you’re smart and thoughtful. You’re talking about one of the most painful and controversial topics in our world right now. You’re doing it with tenderness and ferocity in equal measure and with consideration for the human beings you’re referencing. You’re taking long pauses and revising what you just said because you thought about it a little bit more.

You come to a pause. You laugh a little bit together.

I text my best friend and tell her that I’m sitting next to you and about your conversation. I feel a slight pull to criticize you so I can keep my high of superiority, but I decide against it and I tell her how intrigued I am by you.

And then you ask each other if you can talk about “the thing” that brought you here and you agree to go there. You review what happened, how you hurt each other and called each other names based on who you are and where you come from and what you believe. You make sure you understand each other.

I text my friend with an update. Now I’m celebrating you with her.

You hear each other. You affirm that you will carry each others’ words with you.

You apologize to each other. You explain your stance and why you care so much and why your beliefs are so strong. You look each other in the eyes as you do it.

You share about your families, where you come from, and why you only talk to people you trust about some of these things because of the fear, the sensitivity to others’ experiences. You talk about what it’s like to be hurt, and to hurt others, and how that informs how you move through the world and advocate for what matters to you.

“It’s been really hard…” you say, and you look into each others eyes while you say it.

I wonder how you know each other. I wonder what kind of work you’re doing. I wonder about your beliefs and your families and your histories. I wonder about what hurts and why. I miss most of the words because one of my favorite Bonny Light Horseman songs is playing on the speakers and I’m distracted. I wonder about your minds and hearts, and I’m grateful for your multitudes and your mystery.

You remind me that you’re people. You remind me that you have just as much potential for wisdom and compassion as I do. Thank you for knowing exactly how to reach me.

Thank you for freeing me from my closed mind and my judgements. Thank you for teaching me how much they hurt me and keep me from the joys of wonder and awe. Thank you for taking care of each other and for caring about the world.

Keep going. I’ll do my best the next time I am hurt by—or I hurt—one of my colleagues or friends to make sure I invite them to get a coffee at maybe a slightly quieter cafe so we can talk about it, and I’ll do my best to look them in the eye as we do.