Before ordering, I made a simple judgment. I asked for a de-caf non-fat, no-whip mocha and felt really good about it because I had successfully reduced my fat intake to next to nothing. I judged that it would taste as good without the fat, although that’s not quite true, but it was close enough to warrant cutting out those extra calories. Besides, it didn’t really affect the taste of coffee and chocolate. I admit I was pleased with myself because I had made what I considered to be a good judgment.
Then I sat down. Not four feet away, on an adjoining table, stood a venti mocha with a pile of whipped cream that made my mouth water over its caloric obscenity. It was like a Siren’s song, luring coffee drinkers to imbibe things that quickly turn into large curd cottage cheese before making a home on the thighs. But I suppose that’s beside the point.
My point is, without realizing it, the minute I clapped eyes on all of that decadence I morphed from a person of sane judgment to a judgmental holier-than-thou. Hence the difference between making a judgment and being judgmental — with a capital “J.”
“I’m doing better than he is,” I told myself, as I sipped my mocha and longingly watched him take a huge draw on his straw.
The truth is, it’s none of my business if he drinks three of those things before breakfast, and I’m not in a position to judge him if he does. All I can do is make my own choices, for my own reasons, which amounts to making a judgment. I become judgmental when I look down my nose at someone else for what they are doing.