De-Snarkification.

I listened to a report on NPR this morning that played a recording of a leader of the Taliban, speaking in English. He was solid and unwavering in his belief that America must be wiped off the face of the planet. He stated without the slightest doubt in his voice that there is no way for his nation to thrive while America still existed. This is the kind of certainty that really strikes fear—and sadness—into the hearts of people of compassion. 

But after glancing at my last entry, I saw my own lack of compassion. For me to have judged someone so harshly without knowing WTF I was talking about was not only rash, it was mean-spirited. Scratch that. For me to have judged him PERIOD was rash and mean-spirited. I think I was probably just feeling a bit insecure that day, and did what mean girls  (and Taliban and Al-Queda and every other extremist group) down through the ages have done to make themselves feel better. I passed judgment. The problem with that is that I'm not by nature a mean girl; only a truly mean girl would cast that kind of judgment into the ether and not feel a moment's regret. I know I'm in trouble when my conscience starts bitch-slapping me, like it did when I read a comment someone left for me on the post in question. I peeped myself through a glass darkly then. 

It was necessary, though, this incontrovertible proof that I still have a long way to go. I count myself lucky that I'm never afraid of changing direction and striking off on a new path. Especially if that path will relieve any pain, misery, anxiety or out-and-out terror. People who are my age are, for the most part, solid. Unwavering. They know who they are, where they've been and where they're going. Me, not so much. I have a kind of bendy-straw approach to life: if i can't suck the chocolate milk up from this angle in the glass, I'll try another. And another and another. Until I'm satisfied. This particular frosty beverage happens to be my compassion. Sometimes I lose touch with it, and sometimes I lose touch with the fact that I've lost touch with it. Here's my promise for today: no snarkiness. No judgment. No fear. Gonna drink up every last little bit of laughter, kindness, red lipstick (take THAT Taliban), and yes, chocolate milk, that I can.