I am such a hypocrite.
I have “issues.”
I formulate judgments about people when I’m driving behind their Range Rovers, or when I see houses that more resemble fortresses. I confess, I revert to my critical tendency to draw conclusions about people by observing excess and America’s addiction to it.
Do I ever stop for a moment to consider that the people, whose plethora of possessions I’m using to formulate my judgment about their characters, may in fact be miserable?
Do I consider that their glorious houses may be little more than fancy structures that offer no real comfort? That they may not offer any comfort of a real “home”?
When I roll my eyes about the cushy job that was handed to someone, do I consider that person may actually be enslaved by it?
It is not right that I can feel all high and mighty about my ability to appreciate and accept the diversity of race, religion and ideology, yet fail to suspend judgment of “rich” people, who are sometimes poorer than I.
I’m not right. I’m guilty.
My name is Alexa, and I’m a pharisee.
© Alexa Lopez, 2009
all rights reserved
