Are You Always Right?

In my last post, I shared that a truly healthy life — whether in a Blue Zone or right here in Boston — isn’t just about what you eat or how many steps you take. It’s about something deeper: living with purpose, being part of a community, and staying true to what really matters to you.

But here’s something I’ve come to realize about a common — usually hidden — energetic block to living a free and purposeful life. You can’t live that way — freely, fully, and lightly — if you’re trapped in judgment.

In this case, I don't mean feeling judged by others for your choices. I mean your judgement of others. That's why my subject line was: Are you always right?

And I’m guessing your answer would be no.

Most reasonable adults know they aren’t always right. Many of us even go out of our way to be kind, to understand other people’s points of view.

But my life changed when I realized — and finally admitted to myself — that I mostly thought I was right! One of the first hard lessons about this came in my late twenties, during my Peace Corps years in a Muslim country. Everything I’d been taught was “right” about how to be a strong, independent woman suddenly became “wrong.” I wasn’t supposed to state my opinions loudly and proudly. I wasn’t supposed to let my hair be big. I wasn’t supposed to live alone.

I could be indignant about those things. I could think I was right all I wanted. And at first I was. Eventually, though, I realized that attitude wasn’t going to help me live peacefully for the next two years.

The ensuing struggle and identity crisis turned out to be one of the biggest blessings of my life, though I didn't figure that out until much later.

At that time of life, though, what I did figure out is this: Most of us are used to wondering whether people like us, especially true when we were younger. But there’s a strange kind of relief in knowing — without question — that you are not liked. I knew I wasn't liked by people in the Tunisian town I lived in. I quickly learned that the pain of rejection didn't only come from rejection itself.

I suddenly saw that I had been causing myself pain — for most of my first quarter century on earth — by worrying about not being liked. I'd already been clamping down on my personality to try to fit in.

What a relief to be shown flat out that sometimes I would not fit in. No matter how many hoops I jumped through or new eye shadows I tried.

It wasn't me.

Once I let go of that worry, a swift whoosh of stuck energy was freed up. I could now use it for living my life however I saw fit.

Then I came back to the States — and found I was wrong again. 😆

Have you ever thought you'd learned a lesson for good. And then got blindsided by a new version of it? Even years later? And you thought, "I already did this! Why do I have to go through this again?!!"

Whether I’d been liked or not overseas, I’d had a transactional relationship with the people around me. Besides, they had big hearts. So they helped me. Fed me. Took me to the hammam. They laughed at my stunned, anxious face the first time I walked in — but they still didn't ditch me. The scrubber lady even went easy on me.

People showed up when I needed a new refrigerator. The ran down the street to fetch me from the house where I lived alone — no matter the time, day or night — when my parents called on their landline. We'd run full speed back down the street together, knowing my parents were paying dearly by the minute!

So even though I’d learned some of my hardest lessons there, I had also grown fond of the people in Sidi Bouzid. Which made me wrong again back in my own country. That's because, at the time, it was popular to tell undisguised hate jokes about Arab people in comedy clubs. And I never would laugh.

With my whole understanding of right and wrong scrambled, I began to let go of the idea that I could always be right. There were too many ways to be right. Or wrong. One could turn into the other.

Next: I don’t remember exactly when I started becoming conscious of my thoughts — as in, separate from them, not wholly entangled in them or swept away by them. But when I became conscious of my thoughts, I noticed the constant assessment running through my mind.

I judged people. I judged their comments. Their shoes. I judged myself, constantly. And for a while, that realization made me really sad. Who had I been all this time — this person silently appointed as judge of everything?

Then it got worse.

I saw how the energy of judgment didn’t just go outward. It turned inward, too. That same harsh lens? It aimed right back at me. Judgment is like static electricity. Once it’s in the air, it attaches to everything — including your own joy.

Now think about this in terms of the nervous system. That “fight or flight” state we’re all trying to get out of?

I was in a constant fight.

With every person who didn’t agree with me.With every pair of shoes I thought was ugly.With every decision I made that didn’t live up to some internal idea of worthiness — even when it made me happy.

One of the simplest things you can do — if you’re dealing with stress, pain, anxiety, or just a low, background hum of discontent — is to gently notice whether you’re stuck in a chronic state of assessment.

Just start listening:

“I can’t believe they did that.”“How dare they say that.”“She is so out of touch with reality.”

That’s all. Just listen.

Not just to the big things you try not to judge — because you’re a kind and caring person. I'm not saying you're not. I know you are.

But what about listening to the little, supposedly harmless judgments too? Like someone’s shoes. Or the way they eat chips.

Now notice if there’s a part of you that insists it’s fine. That says things like:

“Oh brother, that doesn’t matter."

"It's normal to vent."

"It's all just for fun."

"I don't really mean it."

"Lighten up Lisa!"

That part may even tell you it’s not useful or possible to let go of judging. That you’d lose your edge. Or your standards. Or your discernment.

But what if judgment and discernment are not the same thing?

What if peace is not passivity?

What if letting go of judgment is not about being too agreeable — but about choosing freedom?