10/11/25

Judge another and you judge yourself.

When life teaches me this lesson of judgment, I remind myself that there is a gift in it. Early in spring, as life shifts from the cold and biting wind, I find myself bracing against the wave of pollen filling the air. I must stick to my allergy regimen daily, or my asthmatic condition may worsen.

I used to hate this time of year.

With a passion.

I realize that change sometimes requires discomfort; that is a blessing to experience, and it will teach me adaptation skills to survive a real, raw, natural world, not the story version we’re all conditioned to accept.

Judge another and judge yourself.

I can’t count how many times this year I judged someone only to repeat the same action or behavior afterward—instant karma. I know enough to tell myself Karma is a teacher, and I have much to learn from her this season, as Spring blooms into Summer and Summer gives way to Autumn. My leaves are changing once again, and the lessons are embedding themselves into my core values.

Judge another as you judge yourself.

It’s simply a natural law, I realize. As I walk down this unpaved trail, trudge through the thicket and thrum, and leave my own imprints in the dirt, I see that the Universe reflects me back to myself—that my reality is created by me, and I am both the author and the architect of my life.

I guess I’m ready for this lesson now.

It’s why it has come to me.

Reconstructing, reimagining, and revising my identity past trauma has been an ordeal of its own. My glorious, battle-scarred, blood-soaked Winter has passed. Spring pollinated my mind, inspiring it to bloom. Autumn asks me to shed old ways and purge the unnecessary, for they only weigh me down and isolate me from the warmth of the Summer Sun that shone on me so briefly.

Summer will return, and I will rejoice when it does. I will cherish the smallest moments, the now—the present—that calms my mind once again. After the seasonal shifts, I will embrace my natural flow and design.

We are Mother Nature’s imprint after all, and nature never gets it wrong.

So, I will see another and understand that I can only see myself; that the other holds countless stories and knowledge I have yet to discover by simply being in their presence; that they are a teacher, and the only certainty is that somehow they will guide me on my path.

But sometimes, lessons are like forest fires—necessary for honest reflection and purging to continue growing.

From one wanderer to another,

Nicole Asbjorn