What if this is a test, not of my aptitude, but of my compassion?
Photo source: tinybuddha.com.
“This has to be a test…”
I re-read the manuscript.
My editor had just sent me a potential article to be reviewed, to give feedback, to recommend (or not) for publication.
It was so disjointed, typos galore, and just… simple (in the worst way).
“No one would ever write this crap. It has to be a test to see what kind of recommendation I’ll give.”
And I seriously thought about it, thought about e-mailing him saying: of course I’d never recommend this for journal publication — did I pass the test?
So arrogant.
Of course, I didn’t say any of this out loud. It’s probably worse that I just sat in front of my computer mocking the Word document, questioning if it was even real, thinking how painstaking it must have been to write something so terrible.
At first, I only read the first page (okay, I didn’t get past the first paragraph) and made my snap judgment.
Rejected.
Not conditionally rejected with corrections or provisionally accepted.
Rejected.
And as I went through the motions of filling out what I thought was a fake feedback form, a panicked hesitation flashed in the back of my mind. What if it is real?
What if someone took the time to write this, to write about a subject they felt strongly about, have a passion for, and then went through the pains to submit it and they’re going to get my feedback?
What if this is a test, not of my aptitude, but of my compassion?
My ability to teach?
To give constructive feedback?
To not be an arrogant jerk and actually read the entire submission.
I hate when my conscience kills the mood.
We can all be quick to judge.
I don’t trust people who wear sunglasses inside.
This coming from a person who rarely makes eye contact with anyone anyway. But I just feel if the windows to your soul are tinted, maybe you’re hiding something or concealing the reality that there’s nothing there.
Or maybe they’re prescription glasses, and you left your transition lenses at home — in which case, I’m just a big jerk. But it wouldn’t be the first time; I’ve made similar declarations:
I don’t trust people who don’t drink coffee.
I don’t trust people who say they don’t like chocolate.
I don’t trust that guy. He’s shifty and his teeth are too white.
I don’t trust the weather man.
And I obviously don’t trust my editor.
I don’t trust.
… and just like that, the truth comes out.
But do you blame me?
It’d be stupid to go around believing everything I see, trusting everyone I meet and trying to see the good in every situation is a complex decision.
But, what if, instead of trusting everyone and everything, you make the decision to be gentle?
To tread lightly.
To give things a chance.
Trust a tiny bit… with kindness.
Or in my case – listen to that little cricket that whispers,“this could be real” when I haven’t given something or someone enough consideration.
“Be gentle to all and stern with yourself” ~ St. Teresa of Avila.
I love her for saying this.
In a society that constantly reminds you to “be gentle with yourself”, to focus on feeling good – we’re not often prompted to extend the same consideration to others…
… and we are hardly ever reminded to hold ourselves accountable for how we approach the world.
Not to be so quick to judge.
I still rejected the manuscript.
But I read all twenty pages and spent the next few hours completing the review, giving more feedback than I ever have before, expressing a positive review of the topic choice and a delicate, yet clear, recommendation on how to improve the manuscript.
And in the end, I’ll never know if my editor was really testing me but maybe the universe was… it always seems to be.
*****
Read more:
Bloodied but unbowed — how to boldly survive criticism.
{Let’s cram}
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