Vois Sur Ton Chemin

Judgment

I like to judge people. Perhaps that phrasing is misleading: I tend to judge people, forming an opinion on them based on certain observed characteristics, and I like that people can be categorized neatly. Except they can't. Again and again I'm confronted with people who, upon getting to know then, end up being significantly different from how I had pegged them.

And the best part--I mean this both facetiously and seriously--is when you have The Conversation. You've met someone, nice enough person, you talk a little, Hi, how are you, What music do you listen to, Do you like cheese, Do you have siblings, that sort of thing. You don't pretend you really know this person, but you're starting to. And then it comes.

The Conversation is a phenomenon you only get with new friends. Old friends just have secrets or revelations, and if you're any kind of friend at all, you work through any issues and get on with your lives. The Conversation only comes when your new friend has a history or a secret he or she thinks could be a deal-breaker, as far as friendship is concerned. And he or she, straight up, wants you to know about it, to see what kind of friend you are right from the outset.

It takes a phenomenal amount of courage. Not only to have a history or a secret, but to own that history or that secret, and most of all to share it with someone you like but don't know if they will reject you outright. For all you know, opening up can just result in being judged and shut out.

The thing about The Conversation is, at least for me, that I have to stick it out to the end. It doesn't work to hear part of the story. As I sit there, listening to someone--often a new acquaintence, but someone I like and would like to know better--pour out his or her soul, I have to restrain my judgments pending more information and reflection. His or her eyes flick to my face, guaging my reaction, quickly skipping away to contemplate some point on the wall, words chosen so so carefully, eyes back to me--like an open window into this person, for once, largely without barriers. The hands usually clutch one another nervously, or play absently with some nearby object, words coming in fits and bursts.

And I, for my part, don't try to understand. The initial revelation hits me like a bucket of cold water but I try to keep a grip. I don't shut them down, I don't make a petty excuse to cut and run. I don't have to watch the walls go up in their eyes, see the fake smile they save for rejection. I don't repay their trust in me so crudely. Instead I stay, sit and listen, hear them out. Usually by the end of the conversation, I have a better picture of this person, their flaws, their strengths, their personality. And I usually realize that there is a lot to this person for me to like and respect about them, not the least of which the respect shown him- or herself and me enough in coming forward with these personal skeletons. Ultimately, it isn't the past that matters to me, but this person's attitude towards the future.

After it's over, like sun coming out from behind the clouds, we're closer, far closer than we otherwise would be. There is always a reason I liked them to start with, and they obviously liked me enough to open up, and at this point, we are friends. There is trust, now, and respect. I don't often have a secret to share in return but I do my best to offer a little bit of my soul, a picture of who and what I am, things I don't share with just anyone.

It's possible to be friends, true friends, without The Conversation. Trust is built through time, through confession. In this case, this person offers up trust: their faith in me as a person, that I won't spurn them based on this secret or history, jumpstarts this process, places us several rungs higher than we otherwise would be at this stage in our acquaintence.

So to all of those people, none of whom probably read this, who have given me a piece of themselves: Thank you. I'll try to be worthy.

posted by Vivyenne @ 4:38 AM