From ages sixteen to twenty I worked part-time as a page in my suburban hometown’s public library. This job entailed many activities – shelving books, retrieving periodicals, helping patrons use the microfilm reader, sneaking cigarettes in the breakroom, and gossiping with my coworkers. I well remember the mildly scandalous occasion when another page named Cindy went on a couple dates with security guard Kevin. Kevin was all of five years older than Cindy, which didn’t seem like such a big deal in itself. The real kicker was, to put it bluntly, that 22 year old Cindy had “virgin” written all over her face. And Kevin, while being a friendly, good-natured, and inoffensive guy, seemed like he’d been around the block way more than a few times. She was an odd girl with an unfortunate poodle haircut, who dressed in bland pastel polo shirts and mom jeans. Her manner of speaking was like that Alyson Hannigan character from American Pie who starts every sentence with, “This one time, at band camp…” And just like that character, Cindy seemed to have no awareness that she was at all weird or awkward. She seemed equal parts innocent and oblivious.

Kevin, on the other hand, seemed like your average socially adept, moderately attractive, horny young dude. To me, this romantic combination spelled trouble for Cindy. I recall some of my coworkers and I screaming, “Her?!” when we heard the news. And I also distinctly remember one of my fellow teenage employees — a kid named Malcolm from Detroit — saying in a very firm tone, “It’s just like my mom says, ain’t nobody’s business if they do.” And he just kept saying, “Ain’t nobody’s business if they do!” over and over again, louder and louder, until the rest of us dropped the subject. 

At the time, I couldn’t understand why Malcolm didn’t wanna jump in on our busybody speculation. But now I’m quite impressed with his wisdom. Malcolm and his mom were 100% correct. I’m glad I’ve learned to be less judgemental. In fact, I love to mind my own business.

Of course, learning to mind my own business took a lot of unlearning. This can be especially difficult for us recovering Catholic types who regularly give ourselves a hard time for not being good or virtuous enough. In fact, when I deal with people who are noticeably judgemental (to the point of it getting in my nerves), I take a sort of grim satisfaction in knowing they probably torture themselves at least as much as they make life difficult for others. I know that condition from my lifelong experience with a mean voice inside my head who I call “Cheryl.”

Heeding the advice of writer Julia Cameron (who some of you may know from the book The Artist’s Way), I’ve learned to identify and isolate the mean inner voice in my head that constantly judges me. For decades, this voice has kept me from doing things I really want to do, so I may actively pursue all the things she thinks I should do. And just as Cameron advises, I have given this mean inner voice a name and personality. In my case, this obnoxious, judgmental bitch is a highly skilled waitress named Cheryl. She is perfect at her job, a master of efficiency and multitasking. She groans loudly whenever I make a mistake. She also finds all of my delicate feelings very embarrassing and cringes whenever I express my emotions. The only way I can impress her is by following the precise set of arbitrary rules she has developed as a means of doing her job so well. According to Cheryl, artistic pursuits are for spoiled rich kids and poor losers. To be a real adult is to toil hard on your feet all day, with a smile plastered on your face. And lord help you if she ever catches you crying in the walk-in cooler when you could be rolling silverware in napkins of bussing tables instead.

Clearly I have had some traumatic experiences working in food service! Anyway, the truth about this Cheryl inside my head is that she is a dumb bitch. Sure, she’s really great at this one thing, but what does she know about anything else? That’s the glaringly obvious thing about people who don’t mind their own business. They think they know it all, but their judgment will forever impede their curiosity. Never do they wonder, “Why is this person doing this thing I don’t understand?” Instead, the thing they don’t understand becomes “bad.” And that’s how you end up assuming that the harmless security guard at work is some depraved perv for going out with the weird girl who talks about band camp too much. For all I know, maybe like the girl from American Pie, Cindy was kind of a perv herself!

Life is a lot more fun now that I’ve gotten the hang of replacing judgment with curiosity. When I hear Cheryl say “eww” in response to something someone says or does that strikes me as odd (but doesn’t hurt me or anyone else), I generally default to “well, what the hell do I know” and move on. There’s so much I don’t know that I’d like to understand better, and yet so much more that I don’t care to interrogate at all. All of Cheryl’s criticism, negativity, and labeling come from a fear-based need to control. And controlling is so much work! I’ve become a big fan of surrender. If it doesn’t concern me, I can just let it be. What a relief!